


Something Lonesome About You

by shepardly



Series: Overwatch/Fallout New Vegas AU [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smoking and drinking as unhealthy coping mechanisms, Some Swearing, i used that generator ft. Hozier lyrics for the title, spoilers for Fallout New Vegas storyline, the crossover nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-12-31 22:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18322832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepardly/pseuds/shepardly
Summary: A slightly rambling, not always exactly by the script, Overwatch-take of the events in Fallout New Vegas ft. Hanzo as the Courier.





	1. Goodsprings

The small community of Goodsprings was quiet again, now that the excitement from the few days before had died down. Trudy manned the Prospector Saloon as usual, while Easy Pete lounged in his chair on the front porch. Sunny and Cheyenne kept up their patrols to keep the geckos and coyotes out of the streets, while Chet went over his inventory obsessively, already making plans for what he would need to resupply when the next traders came to town. Victor continued his odd sort of pacing, but rolling between his shack and Doc Mitchell’s house fairly frequently without going to the Prospector Saloon; a change in the behaviour for the friendly cowboy robot, but not surprising, considering he had been the one to dig up and drag Goodspring’s latest occupant to the good doctor after having witnessed the near-execution up in the graveyard those days before.

 

Doc Mitchell’s routine had been interrupted as well when the Courier had been carried in through his front door, the man in Victor’s robot arms covered in dirt and blood and looking exactly like a corpse that had been dug up. Doc had been horrified, and despite Victor’s assurances that the man was still living, had to check for himself before he really believed it. Once he had found a fluttering pulse and faint breathing, it was a race against time and the frankly brutal head injury that the unconscious man had sustained.

 

Doc Mitchell had seen some horrific injuries over his years of being a doctor, but it wasn’t often he had the opportunity to pick shards of bullet and bone from the skull of someone who was still somehow clinging to life. He couldn’t relax until the man was cleaned up, stitched up, and bandaged, and he got Victor to shift the man from his surgery table to the bed nearby once he was satisfied with his work. Once he was fairly certain that the man wasn’t in danger of dying at any second, Doc went through the clothing and gear that the man had had on him, and while he didn’t find anything with a name on it, he did learn that the man was likely a courier. Considering the Wasteland relied heavily on couriers and their work, there had always been an unspoken rule that you did not interfere with couriers, which included no robbing couriers or killing couriers; a rule that was even mostly respected amongst the different groups of raiders and bandits across the Mojave.

 

Doc could only look at the man with the heavily bandaged head, and surmise that he had either ended up with an extremely unlucky courier, or a courier who had ended up in the deep end of someone else’s business. He could only hope it was the former, for Goodspring’s sake.

 

Now, days later, Doc watched over the unconscious man, waiting for him to either wake up or die. Infection tried to rear it’s ugly head in the wound in the early hours, but it was quickly treated and watched more closely.

 

Five days and an impressive amount of Stimpacks and Med-X later, the courier opened his eyes.

 

***

 

Hanzo struggled to open his eyes and blinked groggily at a blurry and unfamiliar fan that spun overhead, and immediately wished it would stop as the motion was making him feel sick. He struggled to sit upright, both to get the fan out of his line of vision and to figure out where he was.

 

“Whoa, hey there, take it easy.” Someone said nearby, and he turned his head to look towards the voice while dragging his legs off the bed to sit on the edge, trying to blink the blurriness away and swallowing hard in an attempt to keep the nausea down. “Why don’t you relax a second? Get your bearings. Let’s see what the damage is.”

 

Hanzo shook his head and immediately regretted the movement, pain shooting through his head and ramping the nausea up even more. He decided the stranger sounded kindly enough, and hadn’t attacked him yet, so he was likely safe enough to take the man’s advice and stilled for a moment, breathing deeply and trying to collect his wits.

 

The man continued talking, introducing himself as Doc Mitchell, telling Hanzo where he was, how he had been found, and how bad his injuries had been. He handed Hanzo a mirror, asking him to inspect his work, and Hanzo stared blankly at the face that looked back at him, his eyes drawn to the shaved side of his head and the healed over scars that sat dangerously close to his temple.

 

“Can you tell me your name?” Doc Mitchell gently asked. “Or where you’re from?”

 

Hanzo opened his mouth to reply and then paused, brow furrowing in confusion. Where was he from? Why couldn’t he remember?

 

“Hanzo.” He finally managed. “My name is Hanzo. I can’t… I don’t remember…”

 

He didn’t even know why he knew that was his name. He couldn’t remember anyone that called him that.

 

“It’s alright.” Doc interrupted his train of thought. “A fella with the kind of head damage you have, not surprising that you’re missing a few memories. It might come back over time. Might not.”

 

Hanzo wracked his brain, trying to come up with anything from his past, anything before waking up here.

 

“Here, let's get you on your feet.” Doc Mitchell offered a hand, and helped him up. Hanzo’s vision nearly blacked out as he rose, but it cleared fairly quickly and he only wobbled a bit. “Let’s do a few tests, see what we’ve got.”

 

Doc Mitchell’s tests included a strange machine that seemed to measure a variety of skills, and a series of questions and words that Doc presented and Hanzo answered with the first word that came to his mind. The tests seemed to reveal the past of someone who was trained in subterfuge and weapons, although he had been found with only plain clothing that had been all but destroyed, and a courier invoice for something simply described as a “platinum chip”.

 

Doc Mitchell raised an eyebrow questioningly at Hanzo as he showed the invoice to him, but Hanzo was as mystified as he was. Doc shrugged and gave the invoice back to him, as well as an old vault suit, a few stimpacks, and a weathered 10mm and ammo that he had laying around. Hanzo hefted the weapon, and found it didn’t feel completely foreign in his hand, although he felt a nagging feeling as though something was still missing.

 

“If you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to drop by.” Doc told him at the door. “I suspect you’re past the worst of it, but if anything comes up you know who to come to.”

 

“Thank you.” Hanzo said, his face somehow able to retain a neutral expression while he was still reeling on the inside. This was all happening so fast, and he had no idea what to do next.

 

Doc Mitchell either saw something on his face anyway, or was able to guess at his thoughts. “You should head on down to the Prospector Saloon, and find Sunny Smiles there. She’ll be able to show you the ropes for surviving out there, and there’ll be someone around who will pay you caps for odd jobs here and there.”

 

Hanzo nodded, grateful yet somehow uncomfortable showing it. “Thank you.” He said again, and let himself out.

 

***

 

Sunny Smiles turned out to live up to her name, a spunky young woman that served as Goodspring’s unofficial security along with her loyal dog, Cheyenne. Sunny gave him an old varmint rifle, and holding it felt a little more natural than the 10mm Doc had given him. When Sunny encouraged him to take a few shots at the empty bottles lined up on the fence, Hanzo automatically dropped to one knee as he lined up the sights, and neatly took out three bottles in a row.

 

“Wow, that’s some good shooting! Likely not the first time you’ve held a gun.” Sunny observed. “Say, you want to give me a hand clearing out some geckos from around the water sources? It’s been a while since I’ve cleaned them out, so they’ve been getting thick. I’ll give you a few caps and some ammo for it.”

 

Hanzo considered his mostly empty pockets and agreed to it, and it didn’t take them long to complete the task, even saving one of the Goodsprings locals that had gone for water and ended up walking into a pack of the geckos holed up by the spring. Task completed, Sunny then sent Hanzo back to Goodsprings to collect ingredients from plants, with the promise to show him how to make something useful from them. While collecting the xander root from near the schoolhouse, Hanzo decided to see if it held anything of value to him, and once he cleared out the giant mantis nymphs he walked away with a new magazine and a pocketful of bobby pins, as well as some ammo and a few other miscellaneous items he had found in the safe and the lockers scattered around the building.

 

The broc flower was up in the graveyard, like Sunny had said. Once Hanzo dispatched the bloatflies and the tenacious bark scorpion, he cautiously approached the lone open grave, unsure of what to expect.

 

There wasn’t much to see. The grave seemed shallow, but imagining being covered by the pile of dirt and sand piled next to it made Hanzo shudder. He was glad he didn’t have any memories of _that_ , at least.

 

He looked around a bit, but there was nothing else to find, no more clues to help him figure out what had happened to him and why. According to the locals, gunfire had been heard up here on the night he’d been found, so he could only assume that he had been shot then. But if he had bled on the ground here, it was gone now, likely soaked into the sand and blown away by the winds that came through from time to time. The area was effectively wiped clean.

 

Walking away with his pocketful of broc flower, Hanzo suddenly realized his breath was shuddering, his chest tight. He was _upset_. Due to the memories hidden in his own brain, or simply because seeing the site didn’t jog any of the memories he hoped to regain? He wasn’t sure, and didn’t know if he’d ever know.

 

Hanzo returned to Sunny, even more subdued than usual. She showed him how to make healing powder from the broc flower and xander root, and told him how to make stimpacks from the same ingredients and an empty syringe, before sending him back to go introduce himself to Trudy at the Saloon.

 

As he made his way back to the small town, Hanzo began planning his next move, going through his pockets to count the caps and ammo he’d gained so far, and deciding which ammo he’d need to stock up on before he left town. 

 

Because he was leaving town. He wasn’t sure when he had decided it, but he had, even if he didn’t know where exactly he was going to. He made a mental note to ask around more if anyone had seen what direction his attackers had taken as he pushed his way through the door into the Saloon.

 

The last time he had stepped into the Saloon, it had been mostly quiet, music quietly playing from the radio behind the bar and only one person sitting at the bar staring into his drink, while Sunny had been flipping through a magazine by the pool table.

 

This time, there was no music playing, but there were raised voices coming from the bar side of the building, and Hanzo went to investigate.

 

“You have until I get back with the boys to dig that trader out of wherever you have him holed up. If he ain’t waiting when we get back, there _will_ be hell to pay!” The man in the guard uniform shouted at who could only be Trudy before turning to leave, stopping when he saw Hanzo standing there. “What the hell are you looking at?”

 

Hanzo felt his lip wanting to lift in a sneer, but managed to keep his expression neutral. He glanced towards Trudy, who just shook her head at him, before returning his gaze to the angry man, who suddenly looked a touch disconcerted. 

 

“Nothing.” Hanzo finally said, not interested in starting a brawl right there in the Saloon. The man’s uncertainty faded near instantly, turning to disdain.

 

“Then get the _hell_ out of my way.” He roughly shouldered past Hanzo and disappeared through the front door. Trudy sighed and went behind the bar, and Hanzo took one of the stools there.

 

“You must be the one Victor dragged into town.” Trudy observed, pouring a glass of water and setting it down in front of him. “Good to see you’re up and about.”

 

“What was that about?” Hanzo asked, gesturing over his shoulder towards where the guard-uniform man had gone.

 

“That was Joe Cobb, one of the Powder Gangers. They’re a bunch of inmates from the NCR prison nearby, they had a riot some time back and killed a bunch of the guards and ran the rest off.” Trudy shook her head again. “Just another of the pests you find out here in the desert. Although I’m starting to worry that they are becoming more of a problem.”

 

“What do they want?”

 

“They caught up to a caravan last week, killed almost all of them, but the head trader managed to get away and has been hiding out in town. The Powder Gangers have it in their head that they need him, too. As far as I’m concerned, this would all go away if he’d just leave town.”

 

“Where is he?”

 

“He’s holed up in the old gas station up the hill. Sunny put him up there. If there’s anything you think you can do, folks around here would be mighty grateful.”

 

Hanzo considered that, half a mind to ask if that gratefulness would translate into caps or ammo coming his way, but decided against asking so bluntly. For now.

 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Hanzo said. “Before I go, did you see the people that attacked me that night? I’m looking for any information I can get.”

 

“Well, there was a man in a fancy suit that came in here that night with a couple of rougher looking characters. If I had to guess, I’d say that fancy suit of his would fit right in at New Vegas.” Trudy shrugged and began wiping down the bar. “If you’re looking to head that way, you’ll be better off following the highway south to Primm and going from there.”

 

Hanzo nodded his thanks and left, mulling over the information she had given him. He didn’t remember any men in fancy suits, or any ‘rougher characters’ as Trudy had put it, but at least he had _something_ to start with.

 

But before he left town, he had some Powder Gangers to deal with.

 

***

 

By the next morning, Hanzo was on his way down the highway towards Primm. Joe Cobb’s gang had been dealt with in a permanent way and Ringo was safe to continue his journey back to the Crimson Caravan’s hub. Thanks to the generosity of the thankful Goodspring’s inhabitants, Hanzo’s pockets in his new-to-him armour were lined with a fair amount of caps and ammo, and he’d purchased a backpack from Chet to carry his few belongings in the hopes that he’d be gaining more as he made his way towards New Vegas. Sunny had even sat him down and took Doc Mitchell’s razor to his head again, completing the undercut around his head and trimming the ends of his longer hair so it pulled back into a tidy knot at the back of his head. 

 

Looking in the mirror at his new look, Hanzo wondered what the old him would think of him now.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the first time ever, I'm posting a fic that I haven't completely finished yet, so apologies for that. I do have another chapter ready and waiting, so I'll be posting it soon, but it'll act as a bit of a buffer. Haven't decided yet if this will be one multi-chapter fic, or if I'll do it as a series. TBD!


	2. Nipton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Courier gains a companion.

***

 

The following week was a lesson that Hanzo would never forget. The desert was harsh and unforgiving, and did not suffer fools lightly. And yet, he somehow took to it quickly, skills he didn’t know he possessed coming to light without thought. As if he had trained at some point in his life that stealth, sniping, and hand-to-hand combat came as easily to him as breathing. He helped Primm throw off their Powder Ganger oppressors and installed a new sheriff, helping them remain independent of the gang as well as the NCR. He had no arguments with the NCR, but something told him that a military overlord was not anything that the Mojave needed. 

 

From there, he traveled further down the highway and took a detour to the towering statues at the top of the mountain pass, and met a down-on-her-luck caravaneer that was more interested in drowning her sorrows at the canteen bar than anything else. No one there had seen or heard of a man in a fancy suit, but all agreed that it sounded like someone from New Vegas, and gave him helpful tips on getting there in one piece. He picked up some more work for caps and supplies there, clearing out scorpions and giant ants for the merchants and civilians traveling in the area, before moving on to the next town he had learned of: Nipton.

 

As he approached Nipton, someone came running towards him, making him slow to a stop and watch the stranger warily. Hanzo could see smoke rising from a few different places in town, and despite having never been there before he could clearly see that something was wrong.

 

“ _Yeah!_ Who won the lottery?! I did!” The person running towards him turned out to be an ex-Powder Ganger named Oliver, and did not appear to be completely sane. Hanzo tried questioning him, but all he could get out of him was that he had ‘won _the_ lottery’ and that was apparently all that mattered to Oliver. Hanzo let him go on his way, and continued his approach to Nipton with even more caution than before, drawing his 10mm and holding it ready.

 

The main street through town to the biggest building was a nightmare. Piles of bodies burned amongst the buildings, heads were mounted on pikes, and several unlucky people were strung up on makeshift crucifix. Before he could look for survivors, a group dressed in the strangest armour he had seen in the Mojave as of yet approached him, walking amongst the carnage without even blinking. The one that appeared to be the leader, wearing a hood made from a _fox_ fur, of all things, walked right up to him.

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t have you lashed to the cross like the rest of these degenerates, even though I should. It’s useful that you happened by.” Fox-man began with probably the best thing he could have said to put Hanzo even more on edge. He talked to Hanzo like he _knew_ him. “I want you to witness the fate of the town of Nipton, so memorize every detail. And then, when you move on? I want you to teach everyone you meet the lesson that Caesar’s Legion taught here, especially any NCR troops you run across. Tell them what Vulpes Inculta does in the name of Caesar.”

 

“And what, exactly, type of lessons were taught here?” Hanzo still held his 10mm, but kept it low. As much as he wanted to wipe the smug expression off the fox-man’s face, he was vastly outnumbered. There were at least 8 of them besides the leader, apparently named Vulpes Inculta, and they had mongrel dogs at their heels as well. Picking a fight right here would not end well for him.

 

“Where to begin? That they are weak, and we are strong? This much was known already.” The smugness Vulpes oozed was nearly palpable. Hanzo gritted his teeth. “But the depths of their moral sickness, their dissolution? Nipton serves as the perfect object lesson.”

 

“You still haven’t told me what you did here.” Hanzo barely kept the sneer off his face.

 

“Nipton was a wicked place, debased and corrupt. It served all comers, so long as they paid. Profligate troops, Powder Gangers, men of the Legion such as myself - the people here didn’t care. It was a town of whores.” Vulpes apparently liked to hear himself talk and had a flair for dramatic storytelling. “For a pittance, the town agreed to lead those it had sheltered into a trap. Only when I sprang it did they realize they were caught inside it, too.”

 

“You captured everyone?” Hanzo looked over his shoulder doubtfully. Nipton wasn’t a large town, from what he could see, but it didn’t seem likely that no one had run. Although, considering the Legion forces he could see here, they may have been able to completely surround the town.

 

“Yes, and herded them to the center of town.” Vulpes answered. “I told them their sins, the foremost being disloyalty. I told them when Legionaries are disloyal, some are punished, the others made to watch. And I announced the lottery. Each clutched his ticket, hoping it would set him free. Each did nothing, even when ‘loved ones’ were dragged away to be killed.”

 

“You _slaughtered_ innocent civilians?” Hanzo couldn’t keep the disdain out of his voice. While he could hardly claim to be a paragon himself, this was something else. 

 

_This_ crossed a line.

 

“Innocent? Hardly. Cowardly, though. They outnumbered us, yet only one tried to resist us and he fell quickly. The rest stood and watched as their fellows were butchered, crucified, and burned, one by one. They stood and hoped their turn would not come. Each cared only for himself.”

 

“You _murdered_ them.” Hanzo spat, his grip tightening on his gun. “Your crimes are unforgivable.”

 

“As are all crimes.” Vulpes said dismissively. “If you feel so strongly about it, attack us, and soon you won’t feel a thing.”

 

Hanzo glared at him, his gaze flicking around the large group of armed Legion troops, and adjusted his grip on the 10mm. He seriously considered just taking Vulpes Inculta out, but he knew he wouldn’t be walking out of this town if he did it.

 

“That’s what I thought.” Vulpes scoffed, turning on his heel, and Hanzo caught the gleam of a large and well polished pistol at his hip as he went. “Don’t forget to spread this lesson.”

 

The Legion troops simply turned and left, leaving Hanzo in the burning streets.

 

Once they were out of sight, Hanzo turned to survey the crosses bearing a variety of people. It seemed the most likely place to start looking for survivors, but as he progressed down the line, his hope dwindled. Most of them were either dead already or so near to death that he was afraid any movement would finish them off. The last cross in the row held a man in jeans and a blue flannel-print shirt, who was weakly struggling to push himself up with his legs to suck in a wheezing breath before subsiding again, the weight of his own body hanging from his arms beginning to suffocate him. Hanzo ran towards him, drawing his hunting knife, and quickly cut the ropes, causing the man to collapse heavily to the ground.

 

As the man lay wheezing on the ground, barely conscious and unable to even speak, Hanzo quickly looked him over for any more injuries. The most noticeable one that Hanzo could see was that his left arm from the elbow down was missing, but considering there wasn’t much blood on that sleeve, he doubted it was a new injury. Both of his eye sockets were badly bruised, the right eye so swollen it could barely open, and the bridge of his nose was cut and trailing blood down his face along with the bloody nose he must have had at some point.

 

Hanzo glanced back up the street towards the direction that the Legion had left, worried that any of them would double back and see this survivor. They had made it clear they wanted _all_ of Nipton’s inhabitants to pay for their supposed crimes, and he was concerned that they would see this man and return to finish the job.

 

“Here, come, we have to get off the street.” Hanzo gathered the man up as best as he could and pulled him to his feet, sliding under his right arm to hold him up when it quickly became obvious that he wouldn’t be staying upright on his own. He started towards the general store down the street, but the man shook his head and managed to weakly tug at him, pointing with his chin and shortened left arm towards a house across the street. Hanzo internally debated the wisdom of trusting the barely conscious man, but conceded and changed their direction.

 

The house was small, but one of the few that wasn’t actively burning. There was a bedroom directly off the main room that served as kitchen, dining space, and living room in one, and Hanzo all but carried the injured man into that bedroom and deposited him on the bed there before going and looking for water and anything else that would be useful. When he returned with the first aid kit from the bathroom and a few bottles of purified water from the fridge, the man had slid into unconsciousness, either from his injuries or sheer exhaustion, or possibly a mixture of both. Hanzo was beginning to believe that the attack had happened at least the day before, if not longer.

 

He cleaned the man’s injuries as best as he could before applying stimpacks, then left those to work and covered him with a blanket before going to check the rest of the house again. The backdoor had been kicked in, nearly knocking it off its hinges, but he managed to get it back in its frame enough to keep the weather and any pesky, large insects out. Task completed, he then went outside to look around more before the sun went down.

 

He came back well after dark, sporting some new gashes in his leg where a left-behind Legion mongrel had gotten a lucky strike in, had less ammo than he had started with, but his caps pocket was slightly heavier as well as his backpack. The injured survivor still slept, although it looked like he had awoken at some point to drink half of the bottle of water left by the bed. Hanzo treated his own wounds (relatively minor) and settled at the kitchen table to keep watch out the front window. He didn’t light anything, unwilling to give away their location with a light source, but outside was still faintly lit by the tire fires that didn’t seem to be dying any time soon.

 

***

 

Hanzo woke with his head on his arms on the table and a warm blanket draped over his shoulders. He lifted his head and blinked blearily in the morning sunlight that streamed in the kitchen window, his sleep addled brain already starting to wonder when he had fallen asleep and where the blanket had come from. He looked towards the open bedroom door, only to see an empty bed.

 

With how small the house was, it didn’t take long to figure out that Nipton’s sole survivor was no longer in the building. Hanzo sighed. He didn’t know what he had expected, but he supposed it wasn’t odd that the man had fled at the first opportunity. All that was left here were nightmares. The only thing that really disturbed him was that the man was able to make his getaway without waking Hanzo.

 

He took the time to run his fingers through his hair and re-tied the knot, then packed his few belongings and stepped out the front door.

 

The one-armed man sat on the curb across from the house, a cowboy hat on his head and pulled low over his eyes, and a mostly empty whiskey bottle held loosely between his fingers. The bodies had been cut down from the crosses and neatly arranged on the ground, hands folded over chests and random pieces of fabric and clothing covering faces. The pikes that had held heads had been knocked or pulled over, and either the man had found a place to put them or they had joined the rest of the bodies in the tire fires that were still going around town because they were nowhere in sight.

 

Clearly, the man had woken a fair amount of time ago, considering how much he had done.

 

Hanzo slowly crossed the street and stopped a safe distance away from the man and observed him for a moment without being acknowledged.

 

“Are you alright?” Hanzo finally, tentatively asked. The man looked up at him, and he could see that his eyes were red and damp, and it wasn’t only because of his drinking. But Hanzo could see that the stimpacks had worked well; he only had a fading bruise around his right eye and the swelling was gone.

 

“Can’t rightly say that I am.” The man eventually answered, honestly enough. “Was there… did you find anybody else? Alive?”

 

Hanzo slowly shook his head. “When I was coming into town, I encountered one man, who said his name was Oliver. And that he had won the lottery.”

 

The man swore under his breath before biting his lip and dropping his gaze, looking like the tears were threatening to start again. “Of course. Of all the people, _he_ would have to win.”

 

He fell silent again, taking another swig from the bottle. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Hanzo lamely offered, but the man just shook his head.

 

“Ain’t your fault.”

 

“What will you do now?”

 

The man shrugged and held the bottle of whiskey up.

 

“Figured I’d get to that part once this is gone.”

 

Hanzo hesitated, considering his options. “You could come with me.”

 

“And why would I do a thing like that?” The man scoffed. Hanzo wondered the same for a moment. He didn’t even know why he was asking this stranger to travel with him.

 

“There’s nothing left for you here.” Hanzo finally said somewhat bluntly, gesturing around him to the burning town, the silent bodies. “Come with me, even if it’s just to the next settlement. It will be safer. The Legion burned this town down, and means for it to be a message to the rest of the Mojave. But I don’t intend for it to go unanswered.”

 

The man looked at him again, the glint in his eyes a little sharper now.

 

“Y’ seem pretty serious about that.”

 

“I am.”

 

The man considered the nearly empty bottle in his hand, muttered “ _hell with it_ ”, downed the last of the whiskey and lobbed the bottle into one of the nearest fires before clambering to his feet. He was taller than Hanzo expected, probably a touch over 6 feet, and was wearing cowboy boots that added even more to his height.

 

“Name’s McCree.” The man offered his hand, and Hanzo shook it.

 

“Hanzo.”

 

“Well Hanzo, let me get my things so we can get on the road.”

 

***


	3. Novac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was out of the country for a while and drove through Las Vegas for the first time since playing New Vegas and I was LIVING. I had heard that a bunch of the landmarks in the game exist irl but it was a touch surreal driving by the Nellis base, I was looking for Boomers ngl 
> 
> Also, excuse any weird formatting on this chapter. I’m posting it from my phone as I’m not home yet but I’ll give it a check when I get to my computer in the near future.

***

 

McCree’s things ended up being a small pack, a red with yellow trim blanket that he wore wrapped around his shoulders, a belt with a large, gaudy buckle, a cowboy hat that was retrieved from where it had blown up against a fence, and an old .44 pistol that sat in a holster that didn’t seem to fit the gun properly. Hanzo eyed it curiously, but didn’t pry, and McCree didn’t offer anything either. McCree also hunted around for ‘a couple last things’ and cursed a blue streak when he didn’t find what he was looking for. Considering his sour expression, Hanzo chose not to dig into that any deeper, either. It sounded like it was important enough it’d come up sooner or later anyway.

 

They continued down the highway, heading in the direction of a town called Novac that McCree said was on the way to New Vegas. If all went well, they’d be getting into town before dark.

 

“Hey, hold up a minute.” McCree held out an arm to slow Hanzo as they approached an area of the highway that went through a mountainous passage, rock cliffs on either side of the road. The cracked pavement held the rusted out husks of a few vehicles, but there otherwise wasn’t anything to see.

 

“What is it?” Hanzo looked at McCree curiously before looking around, trying to figure out what he was looking for.

 

“It’s a good spot for an ambush.” McCree answered absently, wandering to the side to peer a bit further up the road. “Not sure it’s a good idea...” 

 

“What are our other options?” Hanzo didn’t see any other roads or trails, and the mountain range extended as far as he could see to the left and right.

 

“Well, we could go ‘round, but it probably means spending the night under the stars.” McCree bit his lip thoughtfully. “Not the worst situation, but there is a motel with decent enough beds in Novac.”

 

Hanzo surveyed the pass again, considering it.

 

“Let’s just get to Novac.” Hanzo finally decided. “The bed sounds too good to pass up.”

 

“Keep your eyes peeled.” McCree warned. They carefully continued, watching both the road in front of them and the edges of the canyon as well.

 

“ _Whoa._ ” McCree suddenly grabbed Hanzo’s wrist, startling him enough he yanked his arm away near instantly. “Watch your step. Stay away from that pylon.”

 

Hanzo frowned at the indicated pylon, and caught a glimpse of something metal and round sitting under it.

 

“What is it?” Hanzo asked yet again, feeling out of his depth. 

 

“Land mine. Which means we gotta get out of here.”

 

They began to edge around the orange pylon, while McCree kept his eyes up to the cliffs on either side, and drew his pistol. It was far too convenient of an area for an ambush, but too early to tell if the theoretical bandits would bother with two lone travelers or wait for a caravan.

 

One of the rusted vehicles nearby suddenly went up in flames with a deafening boom, and McCree shoved Hanzo behind another vehicle, hard enough that Hanzo fell to his hands and knees, but the bullets pinging off the vehicle indicated that they had gotten behind cover barely in time.

 

“One of them has a grenade launcher!” McCree yelled over the gunfire, jerking his head towards the north side of the road in the general direction that the grenades were being fired from. Hanzo grabbed his rifle from his back and dared to poke his head out from behind cover for a split second to get an idea of where the grenadier was while McCree watched his back. “Don’t stick too close to these things, they’ll blow with the right shot!”

 

Shrill shrieks and hoots came from behind them as footsteps pounded down the slope, and McCree whirled to face the new attackers. Some innate instinct told Hanzo not to be distracted by them. McCree was already firing back at them; he could handle it.

 

Hanzo popped out of cover and dropped to one knee, his rifle already at his shoulder. The grenadier spotted him immediately and swung the grenade launcher around to fire, but Hanzo had already taken his shot and the man crumpled to the ground with a spray of blood. Once he was positive that the man was down, Hanzo swung around to the attackers coming from the rear.

 

McCree had already taken out two of them, but there were at least two more of them. One was up on the cliffs taking pot shots at them, while another was weaving crazily towards them, waving a machete. Leaving the machete wielder to McCree, Hanzo quickly lined up his shot and dealt with the one up on the cliff, nearly at the same time as McCree’s pistol barked out again.

 

It was quiet after that, but both McCree and Hanzo stayed tense and ready for a long moment, weapons ready, carefully and methodically sweeping the cliffs and highway both ways.

 

McCree finally holstered his pistol with a flourishing spin and let out a low whistle.

 

“That was some shooting there, boss.” He said, turning to Hanzo.

 

“I could say the same for you.” Hanzo returned, checking his rifle and shouldering it again.

 

“I picked up some things living in the Mojave.” McCree grinned lopsidedly at him, the first smile Hanzo had seen on his face. “Looks like you’ve done the same.”

 

Hanzo dropped his gaze and fiddled with the straps of his pack, unsure of how to respond to that. Much of his skills seemed to come naturally to him when thrust into a hostile situation, although he had honed some through practise since leaving Goodsprings. His hands didn’t shake with adrenaline anymore, and his sniping seemed to awe anyone who witnessed it. Some part of him had already learned those skills at some point in his life, but he still didn’t know how he had come to possess any of those skills.

 

“Anyway,” McCree finally said, breaking the awkward silence, “hopefully that’s the last ambush between here and Novac. Should get a move on to get there before dark.”

 

Grateful for the prompt, Hanzo nodded and they continued on their way.

 

Some time later, as Hanzo trudged up where the highway rose over a hill while thinking about what he’d do for some cool water, he spotted a couple of traveling merchants and their guards going the same direction as them. The unencumbered pair would catch up to them soon, and Hanzo was just debating on whether he should wave them down to do some bartering or not when McCree’s breath caught.

 

“Hey!” McCree suddenly bellowed, charging forward to chase after the merchants. “Hey you! Yeah, I’m talking to you! Just hold up now.”

 

Hanzo jogged to catch up to the group, and immediately saw what McCree was pointing at while talking animatedly to the merchant. A metallic prosthetic arm was carefully packed in the netting that held the brahmin’s large packs on its back.

 

“I found it.” The merchant was shrugging as Hanzo got within hearing distance, arms folded stubbornly. “Desert rules: finders keepers.”

 

“Bull _shit_ you found it!” McCree’s voice was increasing in volume. “More like bought it for pennies off some damn Legion novice! That arm is _mine_.”

 

“Prove it.” The merchant taunted. McCree yanked his mostly empty shirt sleeve up to reveal a metal port of some sort that was embedded in his flesh where his arm ended, which was just below his elbow.

 

“That arm won’t work for anyone but me.” McCree said, a warning note in his voice.

 

“Fine.” The merchant sniffed. “You can have it. Two hundred and fifty caps. Take it or leave it.”

 

McCree was beginning to look murderous, and the mercenary guards had placed their hands on their weapons.

 

“My friend and I are between jobs at the moment.” Hanzo smoothly stepped in. “Will you take one seventy five?”

 

The merchant sucked her bottom lip in to gnaw at it, hands on her hips, eyes downcast as if reluctantly considering it. McCree was looking at Hanzo incredulously.

 

“Alright, fine.” The merchant finally said. “One hundred seventy five for the arm.”

 

Hanzo quickly counted out and deposited the caps into her hand— before she could change her mind and completely deplete his wallet— but he knew with the discount he had enough for the next couple days at least. McCree grabbed the arm away from the guard that dug it out of the pack and glared at them.

 

“Care to look at any of my other wares?” The merchant asked Hanzo, apparently deciding he was the friendlier of the two. Hanzo tossed and caught his mostly empty cloth bag that had held his caps and shook his head ruefully before putting it back in his pack.

 

“Maybe next time.”

 

“Your loss.” The merchant shrugged, and the caravan continued on its way.

 

Hanzo turned to watch McCree carefully inspect the prosthetic arm, going over every square inch of it. It seemed to be extraordinarily articulate, with moving joints everywhere a human hand and arm would. It also sported a large, stylized skull design that covered the majority of the forearm; a gaudy detail that somehow seemed to suit McCree perfectly. Hanzo couldn’t remember ever seeing a prosthetic limb before, but he somehow knew that this prosthetic was something to behold.

 

Apparently satisfied, McCree suddenly dropped to the ground so he could cradle the prosthetic arm in his lap, pulling his empty sleeve up again and lining up the arm ports in an obviously well practiced move.

 

It connected with a snap and McCree suddenly jolted and bit out a curse as the prosthetic arm came to life, the hand spinning around unnaturally and sparking violently at the wrist.

 

“Is it supposed to do that?” Hanzo asked curiously, crouching down to look at it closer.

 

“No, it ain’t supposed to do that!” McCree said in a frustrated tone, poking at the hand and occasionally jumping a bit as if he were being mildly electrocuted. “Somebody busted it up. Dammit!”

 

The wrist sparked again, making both of them jump, and McCree fiddled with something near the elbow and it fell free again.

 

“Gonna have to find some tools to work on it.” McCree said gloomily. “My kit was stole, too.”

 

Hanzo took his pack off and rearranged some things to make room, and after a moment’s hesitation McCree handed the arm over to be safely packed away before they started walking again. 

 

The town of Novac was just coming into view when McCree spoke again.

 

“Hey, I didn’t say it before, but thanks.”

 

Hanzo shot him a surprised look, and found McCree looking at his boots that were kicking at the sand, but he looked up at him and met his gaze. Hanzo saw then that McCree had brown eyes, with small laugh lines at the corners, making him briefly wonder what McCree’s laugh sounded like. He suddenly realized he had been looking at McCree for a beat too long and quickly looked away again, feeling heat rising in his ears and back of his neck.

 

“I mean it.” McCree continued, apparently not noticing the lapse. “Cutting me down from that Legion cross, patching me up, even getting my damn arm back. I owe you one.”

 

Hanzo shrugged. “I needed someone to watch my back. I’d consider us even.”

 

McCree snorted. “Still, hell of a good deal for me. Listen, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep tagging along with you.”

 

Hanzo was surprised by the relief he felt. He had become comfortable with McCree’s presence, even though it had barely been 24 hours since he had first found him. Apparently the sentiment had gone both ways.

 

“I won’t turn down that offer.” Hanzo managed to say, hopefully without making a fool of himself. “It seems as though traveling alone in the Mojave is… ill advised.”

 

McCree gave him an odd look at that, but nodded. 

 

“Alright then.” McCree said. “That’s settled. Lead the way, boss.”

 

Dinky the Dinosaur ended up being the name of the prehistoric statue sitting at the edge of town, or so Jeannie May Crawford said. She rented a room to them willingly enough, and Hanzo sighed heavily when they got to the room and realized it contained one queen sized bed.

 

“I’ll take the floor, I don’t mind.” McCree offered, pulling a cigar out from somewhere near his belt and rolling it between his fingers as he considered the room.

 

“It’s fine, the bed is big enough.” Hanzo tossed his pack at the foot of the bed and rummaged through it to retrieve McCree’s prosthetic and some scrap electronics and metal. “Shall we go take a look at this, before it’s completely dark?”

 

They went to look for a workbench, McCree nearly bouncing with excitement. They worked with heads bent over the limb for a couple hours, McCree mostly giving instructions but doing what he could with one hand, and listened with surprising receptivity to any suggestions Hanzo made. He had a good understanding of how the limb worked, and knew which ideas had merit and which did not, and explained why the ones that did not wouldn’t work. By the time they were both satisfied, McCree was sporting his prosthetic limb, which was nearly but not quite at its usual full capacity. He was able to move all the fingers and make a fist, but the wrist didn’t have quite as much rotation as he was used to, due to shortened wires inside the casing. Hanzo had been forced to weld in a couple small pieces of metal inside the casing to limit the motion, but more as a reminder not to overextend the wrist until they could repair it properly than anything.

 

It was getting late once they were finished, and they stood on the motel balcony to watch the moon come up while McCree smoked his cigar and practised movements with his prosthetic.

 

“So, what’s your story, Hanzo?” McCree asked casually, putting the cigar between his teeth again so he could fold his shirt sleeve properly. It was asked innocently enough, but Hanzo felt his spine stiffen, and he looked away, brow furrowing. “Alright, alright, no need to get your hackles up. Just figured if we were gonna be travelin’ together, might as well get to know you. Lord only knows you know a hell of a lot ‘bout me by this point.”

 

Hanzo contemplated that while looking at the distant mountain range before blowing out a breath, his shoulders slowly relaxing until he was nearly hunched where he leaned against the railing. He didn’t really feel as though he knew McCree _all_ that well but couldn’t deny his point. “It’s not that I have anything to keep from you. I just… I don’t know what my story is.”

 

Hanzo risked a glance towards McCree again, to see that he had raised his eyebrows, but he waited patiently.

 

So Hanzo told him everything that he _did_ know, starting with the Goodsprings cemetery, and pretty well everything that he had done before he had walked straight into Nipton. When he finished, McCree blew out a low whistle.

 

“That’s some story, boss.”

 

Hanzo bristled at that. “It’s not a _story_ ,” he snarled, “it’s everything I _know_. It’s my life. Or what I know of it.”

 

“Easy, it’s just a figure of speech.” McCree lifted his hands placatingly. “And a lot to take in. But judging by those scars on your head, you ain’t exaggerating.”

 

Hanzo found himself touching the scars without thought; two small divots on the right side of his forehead, one of which trailed a shallow, straight groove down the side of his head, just above his ear. Minor scars from injuries that had stolen his past from him.

 

“Bet that was a kick to the head.” McCree observed blithely, eyeing the scars. Hanzo lowered his hand self-consciously, and McCree politely averted his gaze again. “So, you’re going after this guy in the fancy suit to what, get revenge? Where does fighting the Legion play in here?”

 

“I don’t know.” Hanzo said in frustration, agitated. He felt like he had just bared his soul, and was now understanding the enormity of it all now that was laid out. Maybe this was all a mistake. “I don’t know how any of this is supposed to work. But now you know. You’ve been traveling with someone who doesn’t even know who he is, or where he’s going. You’re still free to leave if that changes your mind.”

 

McCree considered the cigar in his hand before taking another slow draw. Hanzo was ready to push himself away from the railing and attempt to go to sleep before McCree responded.

 

“Naw,” McCree drawled. “Figure it’ll take more than that to scare me off.”

 

Again, that twinge of relief, startling Hanzo, and he felt the muscles in his shoulders relax. McCree didn’t say anything more, but he didn’t need to. Hanzo leaned against the railing again and watched the moon rise steadily in the night sky.

 

 

***


	4. Boulder City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my chapters keep getting longer. I'm sorry or you're welcome, pick the one that applies. I tried to split this one, but there isn't a good 'middle' spot, so here it all is.

***

 

Hanzo woke choking with panic, heart pounding, shoving himself upright before he even became aware of his surroundings. It took him a moment to recognize the darkened motel room, and he realized McCree was beginning to stir sleepily on the other side of the bed. Hanzo stumbled out of bed and managed to shut himself in the bathroom before McCree could fully wake, and he braced himself on the edge of the sink and stared down at his trembling hands, trying to calm his breathing.

 

He didn’t know how long he stood there. Eventually, he was able to lift his head, and he looked into the mirror, searchingly, but his eyes were drawn immediately to the scars on his forehead.

 

The scars hardly looked like anything, to his eyes. But they were only the physical remains of a deeper damage, a damage that may or may not heal.

 

Hanzo couldn’t remember what he had dreamt of, but he remembered that panic, that sense of horror he had woken up with. During the day, he held his weapons confidently, without shaking hands, and he hadn’t blinked twice at the ‘kill or be killed’ laws of the desert; yet there was something else capable of waking him up screaming in the middle of the night.

 

Maybe that ‘kick to the head’ had been kinder than he suspected. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to remember the kind of man he used to be.

 

***

 

Hanzo was cleaning his weapons and doing any repairs he could at the workbench when McCree wandered up.

 

“There you are. I thought you’d sleep the day away.” Hanzo said mildly while putting his rifle back together again.

 

“It is,” McCree lifted his arm to look at a watch that wasn’t there, then cast about until he spotted a clock on the wall nearby, “barely morning.”

 

“Even so.” Hanzo put his things back in his pack and shouldered it, ready to leave. “I’ve spoken to a local named Manny Vargas, who saw a group that was following a man very much like the one that the Goodsprings people described to me as the one who shot me. He claims to know where he went.”

 

“Oh yeah?” McCree lifted an eyebrow at that. “So which way’d he go?”

 

“He won’t say.” Hanzo grimaced. “Unless we help clear a nearby facility of the ghouls that have infested it.”

 

“Hell with that.” McCree scoffed. “Let’s just keep headin’ to New Vegas. Somebody else will know who this guy is.”

 

“Have you ever been to New Vegas?”

 

“Yeah. Been a while, but yeah.”

 

“How many people would you say lived there?”

 

“Well, lots. I dunno about the Strip, but there’s tons of people that live in the communities around it.”

 

“What are the odds that everyone there would know everyone else? Or recognize a man who fits the loose description as ‘someone from New Vegas’?”

 

McCree gave him a flat look, but he clearly got the point.

 

“I don’t want to pass up on any information, including what this Vargas knows.” Hanzo finished, turning to head in the direction that Manny had pointed him. “Are you coming?”

 

“Yeah yeah, I’m comin’.” McCree sighed, and they went to investigate the REPCONN test site.

 

***

 

“Well,” McCree said from where he lay on the balcony floor as they watched the rockets disappear into the sky, “today took a few turns I did not expect.”

 

Hanzo slid down the wall so he was sitting on the floor with a helpless snicker.

 

“That. Is probably the understatement. Of all time.” Hanzo brushed at something vaguely disgusting on the thigh of his armour, and quickly realized it wasn’t coming off anytime soon. Possibly ever.

 

“Ain’t nobody gonna believe this story.”

 

“No, I don’t suppose so.” Hanzo agreed. “But the ghouls are gone. Mission: accomplished.”

 

“And the basement night-kin.” McCree reminded him. “Those are gone too. You should charge extra for that.”

 

“Hmm. I’ll try.” Hanzo let himself rest for a minute before pushing himself to his feet again. He was looking forward to a night in a bed, even if it was a terrible motel mattress. “This Vargas best have the exact address I’m looking for.”

 

“But then we wouldn’t get to go on _more_ adventures like this.” McCree heaved himself to his feet to follow Hanzo out through the REPCONN building.

 

“We can only hope.”

 

Vargas had somehow already heard of their work, which Hanzo was grateful for, because it meant that they didn’t have to wait any longer to receive payment. McCree went to barter with the traveling merchants that hung out by the motel while Hanzo dealt with Vargas, and they met back at the motel as the sun was beginning to set.

 

“So, I was talking with a couple here in town,” McCree started as soon as Hanzo was within earshot, already pulling out another one of his cigars, “and they say something has been coming out of the desert and killing their brahmin in the middle of the night.”

 

“Let me guess. You said we’d help them.”

 

“Well, I said _I’d_ help them.” McCree defended himself, but after a short hesitation continued. “I wouldn’t mind a hand with it though. The last brahmin killed was kind of a mess. I’ll split the caps with you.”

 

Hanzo looked longingly at the motel bed, but heaved a sigh.

 

“Alright. Just let me get cleaned up before we go. I have congealed blood in my hair.”

 

“You make it look good.” McCree said casually while lighting up his cigar.

 

Hanzo shot McCree a surprised look, but the cowboy was already turning away, taking his smoking outside.

 

***

 

After their adventure dealing with the crazed night-kin that had taken up mowing down every brahmin it encountered, as well as talking to the surly sniper that took the shift opposite Vargas’, they returned to the motel room to sleep until the sun came up. Hanzo didn’t think he’d ever slept so heavily, after such a long day, but he found himself awake as soon as the first rays of light peeked over the horizon. Even McCree was up by the time he emerged from the washroom, packed and mostly ready to go.

 

According to Vargas, their next destination was Boulder City. He had recognized the group with Benny as members of the gang he had once been part of, the Great Khans, and had overheard their plans when they had passed through.

 

It was helpful information, but hearing the city name had made McCree strangely quiet. Hanzo was puzzled by that, but let it go. It would take them most of the day to make their way there, he reasoned, and if McCree wanted to share what was on his mind he could do so in that time.

 

“So. The Great Khans, eh?” McCree started after an hour of mostly silent walking towards Boulder City, and on a different topic than Hanzo had expected. “Shoulda known it’d take some big wigs like that to cause you trouble.”

 

Hanzo tossed a look over his shoulder. “You know of them?”

 

“A little. Enough to know not to cross them. Enough to know they’ll leave you alone if you leave them alone.” McCree scratched the back of his neck. “Probably the only organized bandit gang left in the Mojave. Heard tell they had some rough patches lately, though.”

 

“Sounds like you know more than a little.” Hanzo observed. McCree shrugged.

 

“I used to run with another gang, when I was young and dumb. Had some run ins with the Khans from time to time.”

 

Before Hanzo could ask more about _that_ piece of information, McCree suddenly stopped him with an outstretched hand and a short, sharp whistle.

 

“Someone’s out there.” McCree hissed, watching the sandy outcroppings and brush intently, then surging forward in an explosive movement. Hanzo barely had time to recognize the distant figures as Legion before McCree was gone.

 

“McCree!” Hanzo couldn’t yell, not wanting to attract attention, but it was a near thing as he charged after the cowboy.

 

It looked like a scouting party, making their way back to a small makeshift camp. McCree didn’t even pause, charging in with gun blazing.

 

Hanzo had a second to despair before he raised his own weapon, unwilling to leave his companion without backup.

 

The Legion troops were startled at first, but the shock didn’t last long before they were returning fire with guns and hurled spears alike. Hanzo had to dive and roll a couple times as one of the spear hurlers took specific interest in him, but McCree cut him down before Hanzo sustained any real injuries.

 

It didn’t take long, yet felt like a lifetime, before the troop was wiped out. McCree stood in the midst of his carnage, panting, fire in his eyes.

 

Hanzo didn’t even have time to yell at McCree then, because that was when another troop returning to the campsite made their appearance. It was a large group, bearing down quickly, likely having heard the commotion.

 

Hanzo sniped as many of them as he could, while McCree took surprisingly effective shots as the distance closed, but there were still too many of them when they got within range of their own weapons. Hanzo’s rifle clicked on empty, and he realized he was out of ammo. He grabbed his 10mm, but he didn’t have much ammo for it either, and his shots were less effective even when he hit his targets.

 

Just when Hanzo was convinced that they were done for with seven of the Legion approaching quickly, McCree planted his feet squarely to face them. It was a suicidal move, but McCree looked eerily calm.

 

“Line ‘em up, knock ‘em down.” McCree said, and Hanzo turned a confused look to him just in time to see his eye glint red as his pistol barked.

 

All seven of the Legion troop dropped dead with neat bullet holes in each of their heads. Hanzo stared in disbelief. He had only heard one shot, and yet evidence said that it had been seven.

 

He turned to McCree again, who had turned a shade lighter than normal, and saw blood trickle from the eye that had gleamed red. McCree noticed at the same time, wiping the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.

 

“Aw, hell.” McCree said, and collapsed. 

 

Hanzo ran to him, worried that he had been badly injured in the firefight, but there were no obvious injuries other than the bloodied eye. McCree was already stirring, blinking and squinting in the harsh desert sun as Hanzo finished his hurried search for injuries. Hanzo quickly checked McCree’s eye, prying his eyelids open to see how it was injured, but the bleeding had already stopped. The red streaks down his cheek were dried and flaking in the sun already. The white of his eye was badly bloodshot, but it otherwise looked normal, the pupil dilating properly in the light.

 

“I’m fine.” McCree muttered, pushing Hanzo’s hands away. “Just gimme a minute to catch my breath.”

 

“What was _that?_ ” Hanzo demanded, now that he wasn’t afraid that McCree had dropped dead on him. McCree took a moment to push himself up so he was sitting upright and dusted the sand off his hat before shoving it back onto his head, still squinting, as if the light hurt his eyes.

 

“ _That_ was me seeing red when I saw Legion.” McCree sighed. “Look, sorry I took off-”

 

“No, I mean, what was _that?!_ ” Hanzo pointed at McCree’s eye, shoving the tearing-off-into-a-fight-alone discussion aside for now. McCree winced and looked away, and Hanzo thought he wouldn’t reply at first.

 

“Just one of those tricks I picked up in the desert.” McCree finally said, cryptically. At the look Hanzo gave him, he grudgingly continued. “Don’t know how to explain it, exactly. Learned some things here and there. Figured out how to use that.” He tapped below his eye. “Been a while since I had to use it, and don’t have my good gun anymore.”

 

Hanzo just stared at him, more confused than before.

 

“But what _is_ it? Magic? An ability? Where did it come from?” Hanzo bit his tongue to stop the torrent of questions.

 

“An ability, I guess.” McCree said vaguely. “Figured out I could do it as a teenager, when I was running with that gang I told you about. It’s a long story.”

 

His eyes dropped again, and Hanzo got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it any further. He wanted to ask more about it, and the gang McCree had mentioned, but decided there would be time later. For now, he helped McCree to his feet and kept a worried eye on him as they made their way back to the highway.

 

McCree kept his hat low and buried his lower face in the blanket he wore, but his pace didn’t slow from earlier. 

 

The ruins of Boulder City eventually came into view, and Hanzo slowed to a stop by the memorial rock on the edge of town, stunned by the list of names carved into the back of it. There had to be at least a hundred names.

 

“What happened here?” Hanzo asked, reaching out and touching the stone. The shady side of the memorial was cool under his hand.

 

“First Battle of Hoover Dam.” McCree said, his voice strangely rough. “Rangers lured a bunch of Legion into town, then blew the whole damn thing up. Lots of NCR still died, though.”

 

Hanzo could tell there was more to McCree’s story. “Anyone you knew?”

 

McCree hesitated, then came to stand by him to trace a few of the names, already knowing their locations on the stone.

 

“Abbot. Fiorentino. Chen.” His voice dropped. “Morrison. Gabe.”

 

McCree’s hand hovered over the name Gabriel Reyes, and he had a thousand yard stare, seeming to look through the rock.

 

“I didn’t realize you were NCR.” Hanzo was surprised. McCree snorted.

 

“I ain’t. Never really was, either, was part of a special ops crew that no one really liked to talk about.” McCree paused, seeming to search for words before continuing. “Gabe was commander of that team, and they took out the gang I ran with, Deadlock. I was just a kid, barely seventeen, but I was one of the worst of the bunch. Instead of putting me down like he probably should have, he dragged me out by the ear and gave me the option of joining his side or the rest of my gang. Considering most of them were dead by then, I figured I’d take my chances.”

 

“I’m surprised he would trust someone he pulled out of a gang like that.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t get trust right off the bat. Gabe was one of the meanest som’bitches I’d ever had the opportunity to meet; didn’t put up with any of my shit. Took me nearly a year to get my act together. Took another year after that to realize Gabe was only so hard on me cuz he gave a damn.” McCree let his hand drop. “Don’t remember much of my father growing up, but in the end, Gabe was my papi more than my father ever was. Losing him… felt like I had lost everything.” McCree looked at Hanzo with a wry smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Lost my arm here too. Couldn’t catch a break that day. Medics stuck me with some stimpacks and moved on to the rest of the wounded. I already knew that Gabe was dead, and a bunch of the others too, so I just skedaddled.”

 

“You deserted?”

 

McCree pulled a face at that and wiggled the fingers of his metal hand. “I didn’t have this, then. I was just a one armed twenty-something kid. The medics were already doing the paperwork for medically discharging me.”

 

“I see.” Hanzo thought he understood. “Thank you for telling me this.”

 

McCree just shrugged with a grunt, burying his lower face in his blanket-cape again.

 

“Don’t you get hot, wearing that blanket?” Hanzo asked, distracted by the sight. McCree let the blanket drop from his chin with an offended gasp.

 

“It’s not a blanket, it’s a _serape!_ ”

 

“A serape?” Hanzo unintentionally butchered the pronunciation. “What is that?”

 

“ _Serape_ ,” McCree corrected, “and it’s… this. Keeps the sun off.”

 

“Hmm.” Hanzo hadn’t seen anyone else wearing anything like it so far. It seemed to suit McCree’s aesthetic just fine, however. That being said, McCree was a bit of an odd man.

 

“Let’s just get this over with, alright? You can criticize my fashion sense later.”

 

Hanzo smirked at that, but headed into Boulder City without another word.

 

There didn’t seem to be many people around, although they eventually noticed a group of NCR gathered by a fenced area. McCree grimaced when he saw them, but followed Hanzo willingly enough to the group.

 

“Hold up.” One of the lieutenants held up a hand as they approached. “We’ve got a situation with some Great Khans right now. The brass at McCarran has ordered me to lock down the ruins until it’s been resolved.”

 

Good. The Great Khans that Vargas had told them about were still here; although it was starting to look like it would be tricky getting in to talk to them now. Hanzo slid a look to McCree, who was maintaining a poker face while his eyes darted about, making note of their situation.

 

“What’s going on with the Great Khans?” Hanzo asked.

 

“One of my patrols was on its way back from Novac when it came under fire from the Great Khans.” Fortunately, the lieutenant- Monroe, by the badge on his jacket- was willing to share. “They radioed for reinforcements, but instead of waiting for us, they chased the Khans into the ruins where they were caught in a crossfire. No deaths, but not all of the squad got out. The Khans have Private Ackerman and Private Gilbert as hostages.”

 

Hanzo considered his options, and decided being up front would likely work in his favour.

 

“I have reason to believe that these Great Khans have a piece of my property.”

 

“Once the Great Khans have been killed or captured, you’re welcome to retrieve any property they’ve taken from you.” Lieutenant Monroe didn’t sound like he cared which way the situation went, as long as he got his squad back.

 

“I could deal with this situation.” Hanzo offered. “My stealth capabilities are up to the task.”

 

“His negotiation skills are too.” McCree supplied. Hanzo felt the tips of his ears warm.

 

“Normally, I’d turn you down since I have no idea who you are.” Monroe said flatly. Hanzo sensed a ‘but’ coming. “But considering that the hostages are as good as dead when we attack… Alright, I’m going to give you a chance to talk to the Great Khans. Their leader is a man named Jessup. If we hear shooting, we’ll be coming in, but it’ll probably be too late for you.”

 

“Understood.” Hanzo said, although he wasn’t too worried about the prospect of a fight. McCree had proved to be a capable companion so far, and he trusted his own instincts.

 

“Good luck.”

 

Monroe let them through the gate that went deeper into the ruins, where they found a few more NCR crouched behind rubble, weapons ready, peering over to a half-destroyed old general store.

 

“As long as we don’t look like NCR, I figure we can walk right in there.” McCree said lowly to Hanzo. “This doesn’t look good for the Khans. They’ll be looking for any friendly face.”

 

Hanzo had been thinking of sneaking into the building, but had to consider McCree’s information. If the Great Khans were willing to negotiate, it would likely be the simplest of the outcomes. Sneaking into their hideout would likely send the wrong message, however.

 

“Alright. Lets move in slowly, no weapons.”

 

They walked straight up to the general store, weapons holstered and hands held out to indicate that they meant no trouble. The Great Khans that were stationed outside watched them suspiciously, but like McCree had said, they let them pass by and enter the general store hideout.

 

“What the _hell?!_ ” Hanzo was greeted with stunned disbelief as soon as he set foot within the door. The mohawked man that appeared to be the leader looked like he had seen a ghost. “You’re that courier that Benny wasted back in Goodsprings! You’re supposed to be _dead_.”

 

Hanzo cast a look about the room, noting the armed gang members and the two terrified NCR that were kneeling on the floor, hands tied behind their backs.

 

“I got better.” Hanzo deadpanned in response to Jessup. McCree made a choking noise behind him but he didn’t turn to look at him.

 

“And here I thought us Great Khans were tough to kill.” Jessup marveled, but he was clearly still wary. “So, what happens now?”

 

“I’m here for that Platinum Chip you took from me that night. Hand it over.”

 

“Don’t have it.” Jessup shook his head. “Benny stole it, right before he stabbed us in the back. He’s probably back at the Strip by now, laughing at me.”

 

Hanzo barely suppressed a groan, and McCree huffed in frustration behind him. Another dead end. Regardless, they still had a hostage situation to negotiate.

 

“Fine.” Hanzo was impatient now, wanting to get back on the road but unwilling to give up his current goals. “Let’s talk about negotiating between you and the NCR.”

 

“What’s to negotiate? The NCR backs off, we walk out of here, nobody gets hurt.” Jessup huffed, talking big for someone who was cornered. Hanzo took his chances, trusting that Jessup knew it as well as he did.

 

“Release the hostages now, and I’ll arrange for the NCR to escort you out of here.”

 

Jessup scowled at that, and let out a frustrated growl.

 

“Fine! I can’t believe I’m doing this, but alright, the hostages can go.” Jessup threw his hands up before pointing at Hanzo threateningly. “The NCR better keep their end of the deal, though.”

 

The gang members cut the ropes binding the NCR troopers, who immediately got to their feet and all but ran out of the building. Before Hanzo could turn to go, Jessup stopped him and tossed him something small and silver.

 

“Here- a souvenir for you. It’s Benny’s lighter. Shove it up his ass when you catch up with him.”

 

Hanzo flicked the lighter open and shut before examining the engraving on the side: stylized font reading ‘The Tops’ on one side, and a scantily clad girl complete with tiny wings and a halo on the other. He rolled his eyes before pocketing it and nodded his thanks to Jessup, who waved him off with a muttered, “yeah, go on.”

 

Monroe was waiting at the gate with his newly freed squad.

 

“I’m glad you got my people out, but there’s a new problem.” Monroe immediately jumped in. “I just got orders to take out the Great Khans, hostages or not.”

 

“The Great Khans let those hostages go in exchange for their own freedom.” Hanzo frowned at him. “I told them I’d arrange for you to escort them out of their hideout.”

 

“My hands are tied.” Monroe said helplessly. “I can’t go against orders… can I?”

 

“Listen,” McCree butted in, “you ain’t a puppet, mindlessly following every order you get. The brass ain’t the ones here. Honor the deal.”

 

Both Monroe and Hanzo looked at McCree in varying degrees of surprise. McCree seemed to be speaking from experience.

 

“You’re right.” Monroe admitted. “The Great Khans are free to go. I’ll figure something out to tell McCarran.”

 

“Thank you kindly, sir.” McCree touched the brim of his hat in a mock salute, but the lieutenant was already ordering his troops to move out.

 

Hanzo and McCree watched them leave, Hanzo taking special note of their numbers and the weapons they carried. He had encountered the NCR on a few occasions before now, but usually in established bases. It seemed as though they took their field work seriously, toting enough weaponry that Hanzo suspected they rarely encountered situations where the odds were against them. A force to be reckoned with, Hanzo noted.

 

“So, we headed to the Strip tonight? Or set up camp?” McCree interrupted his musings. Hanzo realized that the sun would be setting soon, and it was still a fair ways to New Vegas, according to his Pip-Boy.

 

“Let’s make camp.” Hanzo decided. “If we get an early start tomorrow, we should make New Vegas while the sun is still up.”

 

McCree pointed out an old railway station just outside of Boulder City as a possible good location for a camp, and they made their way over. McCree was in the lead as he came around of the corner to the front, and he suddenly startled badly, his hand darting towards his gun just as Hanzo came around the corner to come nearly face to face with none other than the towering robotic figure of Victor.

 

“Howdy there, friend! Fancy meeting you here.” Victor waved at Hanzo, the smiling cowboy face on his screen looking as friendly as ever. McCree relaxed a bit, although his hand remained on the butt of his holstered pistol.

 

“Victor? How did you get here?” Hanzo asked in bewilderment. The locals at Goodsprings had told him that Victor had rolled into town about 15 years previous, and as far as they knew he had never left. But now here he was, days of travel away from his shack in Goodsprings.

 

“Just rolling along on my spurs. Looks like I just might make it to New Vegas after all.”

 

“Did you see what happened in there?” Hanzo jerked a thumb back towards Boulder City, trying to determine if the robot was following him or if this was a genuinely random run-in.

 

“Yep. Guess it’s just down to you and fancy-pants.” Victor’s cowboy drawl dragged out his words. If he had worn clothing, he sounded like he’d be putting his thumbs in his belt loops. “I wouldn’t worry about him - he looked all hat and no cattle if you ask me.”

 

Hanzo tilted his head at the robot. It seemed suspicious, and yet he could think of no reason why the robot would be hostile to him, considering he had been the one to dig him up and carry him to Doc Mitchell’s house after he’d been shot.

 

“It’s good to see you again, Victor.” Hanzo finally said.

 

“Yep, but this is getting a might embarrassing - people are going to start to talk!” Victor laughed at his own joke.

 

“Did you see Benny - the man that shot me - come this way?” Hanzo figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

 

“Fancy-pants? No, I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him since that tussle in Goodsprings. I’m sure he ran back to the soft living of New Vegas, though.”

 

“I’m sure you’re right.” Hanzo said. “We’ll be traveling there tomorrow.”

 

“Well, look me up when you get to New Vegas! I’ll buy the first round.”

 

“Thank you, Victor. I’ll see you there.”

 

The robot tossed another wave before rolling off, bumping down the few steps off the porch of the railway station and speeding off towards the highway. Hanzo was beginning to see a glow in the darkening sky in that direction, likely from city light pollution.

 

“That was the robot that dug you out of the ground?” McCree seemed amazed. Hanzo hadn’t left the robot out of his story that he had told in Novac, but he hadn’t known the make or model of the friendly robot. Regardless, McCree obviously remembered hearing of Victor. “I didn’t think it’d be a 2060 Securitron.”

 

“I can’t say that I know much about robots. I didn’t realize it would be strange.”

 

“Last I heard, Mr House is the one that rolled that particular model out. Seems odd that there would be any outside the Strip.” McCree mused. “Never seen one that wanted to be a cowboy, though. Most of them are security, or police.”

 

“Are you sure you’ve never met him before? Perhaps he was inspired.” Hanzo said, and McCree gave him a gentle push at his bad joke, although he was smiling good naturedly. “Who is this Mr House you mentioned?”

 

“He was the head honcho in New Vegas, one of the founders of the place. Had his own casino, but it’s been shut up tight for years now. Probably happened when he died, but nobody knows for sure. His robots are still keeping the peace just fine on the Strip, though.”

 

Hanzo pondered this. If Victor was one of Mr House’s, how had he come to be at Goodsprings, and for what purpose? The more Hanzo learned, the more convoluted it became. He shook his head, deciding he needed more information before he could think on it more. It was time to get back to the task at hand.

 

The station ended up being the perfect place to spend the night, once they cleared the bark scorpions out. Hanzo tinkered with the locked terminal on the desk for a while, suspecting it would open the safe nearby, but eventually had to give up on it. McCree was already settled on one of the benches, serape bundled under his head as a pillow and his hat placed over his face, looking like he was already dead to the world. Hanzo saw that McCree had stacked a few empty tin cans by the door as a makeshift intruder warning system, and figured it was likely good enough. He made himself comfortable on another bench, using his pack as a pillow, and tried to calm his mind.

 

It was a long time before Hanzo fell asleep, his thoughts whirling around New Vegas and what he might find there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: ring-a-ding-ding baby!


	5. New Vegas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you haven't guessed so far, I love me an independent New Vegas, so buckle up if that's what you're into and apologies if you thought it was going to go a completely different way.

***

 

Hanzo was feeling overwhelmed before he even set foot within the outer areas of the city. New Vegas was _huge_ , overwhelming in its size, and filled with more people than he had seen on his journey here. How was he supposed to find _one_ person in a place this big?

 

McCree noticed his slowing steps once they had passed the first gate into Freeside.

 

“You alright, partner?”

 

“Yes. It’s just… I knew to expect a large city, but I still…” Hanzo gestured helplessly around himself.

 

Fortunately, McCree seemed to know what he was getting at.

 

“Don’t worry. We have more than enough info to find the guy we’re looking for.”

 

“You’re sure?” Hanzo asked doubtfully. McCree had already identified ‘The Tops’ engraving on the lighter as a casino on the Strip, but it still seemed like a wide-open lead.

 

“Eh, not really, but we ain’t givin’ up now.” McCree grinned at him. “C’mon, let’s stop at the Atomic Wrangler and get a drink. Been ages since I been there.”

 

The cowboy led the way, Hanzo taking in the sights and asking questions as he tagged along.

 

“What’s this?” Hanzo pointed to a large wooden door set into the stone wall they were passing. McCree swallowed and only cast a short glance at it as he passed by without stopping.

 

“The Old Mormon Fort. Some group took it over, they work as a hospital for the locals and whoever else wanders through.”

 

“Do they sell medical supplies?” Hanzo asked with interest. Having a reliable supplier of stimpacks and RadAway seemed like a valuable resource in the desert.

 

“I would assume so, if they have any spares.” McCree said vaguely, still moving on.

 

“Are we allowed to go in?” Hanzo stopped. McCree turned to look at him, looking hesitant.

 

“Yeah, you’re allowed. But hey, I’m parched, think I’ll move on to the Wrangler. Meet up there when you’re done?”

 

Hanzo tilted his head in confusion, but nodded. McCree gave him directions to The Atomic Wrangler, and they parted ways.

 

It didn’t take long to meet Julie Farkas, the leader of the branch of the Followers of the Apocalypse that took up residence in the Old Mormon Fort, and learn that the group was struggling to make their own ends meet. Hanzo promised to keep an eye out for medical supplies and possibly a supplier for them, talked briefly to a researcher that was working with plants and scientific equipment in one of the tents, and then moved on to the Atomic Wrangler.

 

McCree was waiting at the bar for him, a few empty glasses sitting beside the half full one in his hand. Apparently, straight whiskey was the cowboy’s drink of choice. Despite that, he didn’t appear to be more than slightly tipsy when he greeted Hanzo, and cheered up immensely when Hanzo described his lackluster experience at the Old Fort. His behavior seemed odd, but Hanzo couldn’t put his finger on why.

 

“Say, I didn’t mention it before, but there are a few rules about getting onto the Strip.” McCree confessed to Hanzo after he had ordered himself a drink.

 

“Oh?” Hanzo took a whiff of the drink he was handed and made a face, but he downed it all the same.

 

“Mr House’s Securitrons don’t let just anybody onto the Strip. Can’t have the poor mingling with them rich and posh folk, after all.” McCree said sardonically. “There’s a couple ways to do it, though. They have a credit check, where they check your wallet and make sure you have at least 2,000 caps on you. They don’t take it, they just wanna see that you have that much to spend.”

 

Hanzo felt himself deflate at that. He didn’t even have a thousand caps at the moment. This could prove more challenging than he thought.

 

“You said there were a couple ways of gaining access?” He asked hopefully.

 

“Yeah, they also take passports. It ain’t possible for you or I to get _legit_ passports, but I took the liberty of procuring a couple counterfeits for us.” McCree slid two booklets across the bar top towards Hanzo, who flipped through them. McCree’s passport had the name ‘Jesse James’ while Hanzo’s said ‘Hanzo Six’. “I wasn’t sure what your last name was, or if you even knew it.” McCree explained. “Hope you don’t mind. I’ve heard stranger names, so I figure it’ll pass scrutiny.”

 

Hanzo shook his head with a wry smile. “It will do. Thank you, McCree. How much do I owe you for this?”

 

“I called in some favours.” McCree waved away the offer of caps. “You don’t owe me nothin’.”

 

They took their time to savour their drinks, then Hanzo settled the tab and they set out on their way again. McCree pointed out the Kings’ base as they passed by and talked a bit about their role in Freeside, and they encountered a couple of hostile thieves but dealt with them easily and passed through Freeside with no real troubles. The passports worked perfectly at the North Gate, allowing the pair entry to the Strip with no suspicions from the Securitrons that guarded it.

 

“Howdy, pardner!” Somehow, Hanzo wasn’t surprised to see Victor just inside the gate. “You’ve come a far piece, haven’t you? Welcome to New Vegas!”

 

Upon further inspection, Hanzo realized with interest that Victor wasn’t in his usual robot body. The cowboy-faced robot was in a better, cleaner condition than usual. 

 

Having suspicions that he wouldn’t get any new answers about how Victor had come to be there and why he wasn’t in his usual body, Hanzo decided to cut straight to the chase.

 

“I need to know how to get to The Tops, Victor.”

 

“Sorry, rambler.” Victor genuinely sounded contrite. Hanzo blinked in surprise; Victor had never outright denied him anything before. “I know you’re fixing to serve up some vengeance, but I’m gonna have to point you to the Lucky 38 first. Mr House is itching to make your acquaintance. He’ll help you serve that cold dish of yours extra chilly.”

 

Hanzo just barely suppressed his impatient outburst, folding his arms instead. Fine. He’d get the location from McCree. “Tell Mr House I’ll be by when I have time.”

 

“Don’t you dawdle, little doggie! Mr House isn’t someone you want to go about snubbing. He’ll be waiting.”

 

Victor’s face abruptly flickered then changed to the policeman face before the robot rolled away, confirming Hanzo’s suspicions that he hadn’t been in his own body. Who was Victor? Was he acting of his own volition, or as a puppet for this Mr House?

 

“What the _hell?_ ” McCree apparently had his own questions. “Mr House is alive? _And_ The Lucky 38 is open?”

 

“I thought you said Mr House was one of the founders of New Vegas. How could it be possible that he’s still alive?”

 

“That, I don’t know.” McCree said grimly. “You have a knack for getting into strange situations, darlin’.”

 

Hanzo felt his ears go hot at the pet name, but he managed to retort, “I didn’t mean for any of this, it just keeps happening to me.”

 

“Don’t I know it.” McCree muttered. “Look, what are we gonna do? We going to see this ‘Mr House’ or are we going to find that asshole Benny?”

 

Hanzo bit his lip, considering his options.

 

“I would rather go find Benny and get this over with.”

 

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

 

“But it sounds like this Mr House is not someone to take lightly.” Hanzo sighed. “We’ll go to him first.”

 

“Well alright, let’s do this.” McCree said, quirking a grin. “Let’s get another story under our belts that no one is gonna believe.”

 

They headed to the tower labeled The Lucky 38, where Victor met them at the door.

 

“Howdy there partner! Glad you could make it. Mr House is waiting on ya, but I’m afraid I have to ask your friend here to wait outside.”

 

“What? Why?” Hanzo and McCree burst out at nearly the same time.

 

“Mr House is very particular about the folks he lets in here, and he made it clear he just wants to meet you.” Victor told Hanzo. “Sorry, friend.”

 

McCree looked annoyed, but he waved Hanzo off when he turned to look at him.

 

“Alright, alright, you go ahead. If you ain’t back in a couple hours I’ll charge in.”

 

Victor laughed at that, but McCree didn’t appear to be joking. Hanzo clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder with a small smile of thanks, and followed Victor into the mysterious casino.

 

The inside was slightly dusty, but everything was pristine. The tables and seats, bar, slots machines, everything looked like it was in working order with no dents or dings or any other signs of age. Victor lead the way into the elevator, where he selected the penthouse floor.

 

Stepping off the elevator, Hanzo discovered that Victor wasn’t the only unique-faced Securitron. He stopped short, looking at her face, but she quickly but kindly ushered him into the next room, where he was faced with a large bank of monitors and more police Securitrons.

 

“This meeting has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?” The bank of monitors flickered before coming up with a picture of a mustached man with slicked down hair. “You’ve come a long ways. I have to ask, now that you’re here, what do you make of what you see?”

 

“A self absorbed city, full of vice and sin. What’s not to love?” Hanzo said flippantly, impatient to get to the real reason he was here. “Cut to the chase, Mr House. Why am I here?”

 

“Oh, come now, don’t hurry this visit along. It’s important that we get to know each other, because you see that you and I are of a different stripe than the scum that populate this city, don’t you? We don’t have to dream we’re important. We _are_.”

 

Hanzo frowned at that, not fooled for a second by the flattery. “Why would you think so highly of a courier?”

 

“Oh, don’t be coy. You’ve been playing a high-stakes game ever since Victor dug you out of the ground. Don’t be afraid to admit it.”

 

Apparently, Mr House had been getting information on Hanzo for some time, but he didn’t seem to realize that Hanzo had no idea what was in his past, and that everything he’d done up until now was based on finding the man that had put him in the ground.

 

But if Mr House believed Hanzo knew what he was doing, let him keep believing it. It was time to play it fast and loose. Maybe he’d learn more about his past this way.

 

“Fine. Let’s get down to business, then.”

 

“The business is this. One of my employees has stolen something from me, and I want it recovered. Simple enough?”

 

Several things were beginning to come together for Hanzo.

 

“This stolen item… was it a Platinum Chip?”

 

“Yes.” The answer wasn’t a surprise. “It’s a very special item. There’s nothing like it in the world. It was lost for a long time, and very difficult to find. That’s all you need to know about it at this time. Find it, deliver it, and I’ll decide if I can trust you with the rest then.”

 

The last comment set Hanzo off, infuriating him for no real reason he could determine, but he let himself react to it anyway; albeit with a very carefully restrained tone. “If this item was so important, why did you entrust it to a single courier? That seems foolish.”

 

“As you know, you were one of six couriers, but did you know that the items the other couriers carried were dummy items to keep suspicion off yours? And had I used an armed caravan to transport the Chip, I might as well have had them carry flags saying ‘this is important, attack this!’ I didn’t want to attract attention from the groups in the Mojave, but alas. The real threat was closer to home.”

 

“So this Benny is an employee of yours?” Hanzo folded his arms again, knowing he was practically oozing annoyance, but he didn’t care. How had this come to be his problem? This mysterious man in the screen was apparently the employer of the man who had _shot_ him in the _head_ , which only increasingly cemented the feeling that he would be shot in the back if he tried to walk away from this conversation now. “Why not just use your robots to arrest him?”

 

“Frontal assault on casinos? Not good for business. In any case, Benny would see it coming. All he would have to do is hold up the Chip and point a pistol at it. As it is, Benny doesn’t know that I know he has it. Let’s not squander the opportunity that presents.”

 

Hanzo’s annoyance was not lessening.

 

“I have a right to know more.”

 

“That’s simply not true.” Mr House condescended. “I am the only person that holds any rights pertaining to the Chip! I designed it, and I paid for it. Dearly. And not in the currency of bottle caps that you have these days, but US dollars, a sum beyond counting. On top of all that, I have spent tens of thousands of bottle caps in my efforts to find and get the Platinum Chip here to me.”

 

“What about your employee? He shot me in the head. I’ve not come all this way to simply pick his pocket and walk away.” 

 

“What happens to Benny is up to your discretion.” Mr House said dismissively. “He’s proven his untrustworthiness, and I’ll not have him work for me ever again. On top of that, I will pay you four times the delivery bonus stipulated on your contract when you bring the Chip to me. How’s that?”

 

That would come to a grand in caps. Not a price to sneer at.

 

“Fine.” Hanzo finally said, feeling dirty. “I agree to your terms.”

 

“Excellent. Return to me when you have the Platinum Chip in your possession.”

 

The bank of monitors flickered before displaying the words ‘No Connection’, and Hanzo took that as his dismissal. Victor escorted him to the casino floor again and told him about the suite that he and McCree was free to use while they were working for Mr House before Hanzo made his escape into the warm desert sunlight again.

 

McCree was still waiting outside, and perked up when he saw Hanzo.

 

“Oh good, I wasn’t sure how well my plan would work for getting you out of there.” McCree confessed with a grin. “What’s it like in there? Was it actually Mr House?”

 

Hanzo explained everything, including the fact that he hadn’t actually seen Mr House in the flesh, and what the mysterious man had wanted. McCree let out a whistle when he was done.

 

“This just gets crazier and crazier.” McCree admitted. “What now?”

 

“Now I get paid to do what I was going to do anyway.” Hanzo said determinedly, looking towards where he could see the sign for the Tops Casino.

 

“Well alright, now we’re talking. Shall we?”

 

They headed through the next gate and straight for the white casino with neon lights. Hanzo pushed through the front door, mind clear and calm now that his goal was so near. He didn’t hold any illusions that Benny would be here at this moment, but he was so close he could taste it.

 

“Whoa, hey there, fella, hold up a minute!” The Tops concierge stopped them as soon as Hanzo barged through the door and headed for the casino floor. “Welcome to the Tops Hotel and Casino! Before you head in there, I’m going to have to ask you to hand over any weapons you might be carrying.”

 

“Listen, can’t you do us a solid and just let it slide this time?” McCree wheedled, clearly unwilling to disarm. “We won’t cause no trouble, scout’s honor.”

 

“No can do, buddy.” The concierge was firm. “Casino rules. Door’s there if you don’t like it.”

 

Hanzo considered his rifle, carried openly across his back, and his 10mm in its holster at his hip, then reluctantly surrendered them to the man. McCree handed over his pistol with a grumble and pulled a couple grenades from his pocket as well.

 

Hanzo noticed that neither of them had turned over the weapons they each had in their boots, but none of the bouncers noticed.

 

“Smooth and easy, just the way I like it. Don’t worry, you’ll get these back when you’re ready to leave.” The concierge handed the weapons to a runner who was presumably taking them to a safe. “Oh, and a friendly word of advice: if you happen to ‘stumble across’ any weapons during your stay here, well… just don’t wear them openly. You dig?”

 

Hanzo frowned in consternation at that, but gave the man a nod and they ventured further into the casino. Hanzo took a drink from one of the nearby waiters and casually scanned the crowd while McCree hovered by his shoulder.

 

“This Benny asshole is gonna have us right where he wants us.” McCree muttered in Hanzo’s ear as they stopped to watch a game at one of the many tables in the casino. “We’re sitting ducks in here with no decent weapons.”

 

“It’s a big casino, and a bigger city. It’s not likely that he’ll be here at this exact moment.” Hanzo said, just as he caught eyes with a man that stood on the opposite side of the casino floor, wearing a suit that matched Benny’s description and an expression that screamed _‘what the f@$!’_ even from that distance. McCree, unfortunately, noticed him at about the same time as Hanzo.

 

“You were saying?”

 

Hanzo ignored McCree and headed across the casino floor, going straight for Benny. The gig was clearly up, the element of surprise lost, and everything in Hanzo screamed at him to just get the encounter over with.

 

“ _What_ in the goddamn?” Benny was nearly shaking in his boots, but trying to play it cool. “Let’s keep this in the groove, hey? Smooth moves. Smooth… Wait a sec, so that means _you’re_ the one that was seen going into The Lucky 38? Damn…”

 

The bodyguards around Benny were on high alert, their weapons ready, fingers on the triggers. Any wrong move would end badly for Hanzo and McCree. Hanzo had to think quickly, to keep the conversation moving in his favour. If he could get Benny alone, away from his bodyguards, it would give him more options for pressing him for information.

 

Hanzo was also really annoyed with Benny.

 

“You need to work on your marksmanship.” Hanzo informed Benny.

 

“I hit what I was aiming for! Either you have brains to spare or you got a thick skull, fella.” Benny said defensively. “But either way, maybe I can finally sleep at night, knowing you didn’t die. What say you and me cash out, go somewhere more private like? Any questions you got, I’ll answer.”

 

Could it really be so simple? Hanzo eyed the bodyguards around Benny. 

 

Not likely.

 

It was time to play fast and loose again.

 

“What did you have in mind?” Hanzo purred, giving Benny a once-over. McCree stiffened, noticeably. Hanzo didn’t look at him.

 

“To start, I’ll comp you the Presidential. Best suite in the house. Give you a taste of the VIP lifestyle.” Benny leered at him, returning the once-over. Hanzo’s optimism at this plan working went up. “I’ll need to hang out down here for a bit to make it look business-as-usual, but then I’ll come to you.”

 

That sounded suspicious to Hanzo. Even if he got McCree to stay here and keep an eye on Benny, there was still too high of a chance of Benny slipping away again.

 

“Counter offer. Ditch your bodyguards, and come with me now.” Hanzo boldly stepped forward and grabbed Benny by the tie, lowering his eyelashes and flirting right back with the checkered suit man. “I want to know more about the man who was able to overpower me so… easily.”

 

Benny’s knees seemed to go a little weak, and he gave in easily.

 

“Oh, baby, you know what I like to hear.” Benny muttered, and waved his bodyguards off as his plans seemed to rapidly change. “Alright, follow me.”

 

McCree grabbed Hanzo’s arm before he could go to follow Benny to the elevator. Thankfully, Benny didn’t notice.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” McCree hissed at him.

 

“Whatever it takes to get that Chip back.” Hanzo hissed back, yanking his arm out of the cowboy’s grip. “What don’t you understand? I just need to get him alone.”

 

“Like _that?_ C’mon, Hanzo, there’s better ways-”

 

“That will get us both killed.” Hanzo snapped. “This way, no one will get hurt. Stay here. I’ll be back.”

 

McCree looked hurt and like he wanted to say more, but Hanzo didn’t have time for it. Benny was waiting. Hanzo could have sworn he felt eyes boring a hole in his back as he walked away. 

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confirmed Bachelor should have similar speech options in Ring-A-Ding-Ding to Black Widow. 'nuff said


	6. Ring-A-Ding-Ding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance if you're Benny fans :/ But Hanzo is not here to play around
> 
> Just a heads up, Fallout game-canon violence in the first part, skip to the first dividing ***'s if it's not your jam. I think I explain enough in the rest of the chapter to get an idea of what happens, anyway.

***

 

Benny’s suite was large and extravagant, larger than a few houses Hanzo had holed up in some nights. When Hanzo cautiously opened the door into the bedroom, Benny was already waiting for him and immediately got into his space, even going as far as putting his arms around him. Hanzo fought down the urge to shove him off of him, but managed to keep him at arms length without seeming too suspicious.

 

“What say you let Benny show you the Tops?” Benny had given up on any subtlety, laying it on thick. Hanzo fought back a gag, but decided it was in his best interest to play along - for now.

 

“Let’s see what you’ve been hiding under that checked suit.” Hanzo suggested coyly, shifting to assure himself that his knife was still in his boot. As much as he wouldn’t mind ending Benny right here and now, he had questions for him.

 

“More than you ever dreamed, baby.” Benny purred, starting to take his jacket off and sitting down on the bed.

 

It didn’t take long for Hanzo to figure out that Benny was not going to spill anything related to what he’d been up to, more interested in what Hanzo was supposedly offering. But this suite seemed to be his central hub; there had to be some evidence that he had laying around.

 

When he couldn’t stall any longer, Hanzo allowed himself to be pulled in close to Benny, where he slid his knife into Benny’s throat.

 

Benny didn’t even have time to scream for his bodyguards, but his eyes were full of betrayal as he fell back on the bed and breathed his last.

 

Hanzo quickly wiped his boot knife off on the bedspread, retrieved what little clothing he had shed, and got dressed before rummaging through Benny’s suit pockets.

 

He pulled the Platinum Chip out, the shiny surface gleaming in the lamplight. While it looked like a normal casino chip, the metallic material made it stand out. It was surprisingly heavy, too, for such a small item. He looked towards the bed where Benny’s corpse was cooling. All this, just for this tiny hunk of metal.

 

Hanzo pocketed Benny’s pistol, keys, and caps while he considered his options for getting out of the room unseen. Going out the front door seemed like a foolish risk, but there was a door that Hanzo hadn’t seen opened yet on the side of the suite. Once he was ready to make his break for it, Hanzo took a deep breath before he pushed that mysterious door open, newly acquired weapon in hand, bracing for the worst.

 

The door opened into a decrepit room, oddly out of place beside Benny’s other lavish rooms. A few monitors and terminals sat along the edges, but in the center of the room a Securitron stood with an odd smiling face streaming on its monitor.

 

“Hey! Hi there, I’m Yes Man! It’s good to meet you!” The robot cheerfully greeted him. “What can I do for you today?”

 

***

 

When Hanzo returned to the Tops casino floor with the Platinum Chip in his pocket, he was feeling much more informed about what exactly was going on in New Vegas and was beginning to form an idea about what he was going to do about it, thanks to Yes Man. He spotted McCree sitting at the bar and went to share his findings with the cowboy, but as he approached he realized McCree was well and truly drunk. Regardless, he heard Hanzo approaching and turned to face him, nearly falling off his stool in the process.

 

“There ya are.” McCree’s drawl was even more drawn out due to his drinking. “Scratch that itch?”

 

Hanzo frowned at him, insulted. None of this felt like anything to be joked about.

 

“Oh, come on, you don’t have to play shy with me.” McCree scoffed, the perfect picture of misery as he turned back to his drink.

 

“I only did what I had to to finish the job.” Hanzo said stiffly, unwilling to talk details while still in the same building as the man he had murdered. He was still trying to process everything that had just happened in Benny’s suite, and didn’t understand what McCree’s problem was. “Let’s go.”

 

“Why the rush? Have a drink. Take a load off. Or did you do that already?”

 

“No. Let’s _go._ ” Hanzo was fed up, but McCree didn’t appear to be in a hurry to get anywhere. Seeing no other options, Hanzo pulled a syringe of Med-X from his pack and jabbed it into McCree’s bicep through his shirt.

 

“Hey!” McCree protested, but the contents were already injected, temporarily removing the effects of the alcohol in his system. “I was just getting a good buzz going!”

 

“I don’t care. Let’s go.” Hanzo said again, and stalked out. He was aware he was being rude and abrupt, but McCree’s attitude was rubbing him the wrong way.

 

McCree was glowering as they left The Tops, but Hanzo was still upset enough that he didn’t care to ask exactly what it was on the cowboy’s mind. Once they were out on the Strip where the sun was setting, Hanzo stopped and fiddled with his Pip-Boy with slightly trembling hands, trying to calm his mind and think about his next move.

 

Before he had really decided anything, he saw a man out of the corner of his eye approaching them, and McCree suddenly stiffened beside him. Hanzo looked at the man directly, and realized it was none other than Vulpes Inculta, dressed in a suit that disguised him as just another gambler on the Strip.

 

“Greetings—” Before Vulpes could get a full sentence out, he suddenly had a metal hand clamped around his throat, and McCree roughly manhandled him until he was shoved up against the building wall, clawing uselessly at McCree’s metal arm.

 

“McCree!” Hanzo quickly looked around, making sure no Securitrons were nearby observing.

 

“This is the asshole that did Nipton.” McCree was still glaring at Vulpes, who hadn’t had an opportunity to draw a full breath since McCree had grabbed him.

 

“I’m _aware_.” Hanzo said sharply. “You’re going to get us arrested. Let him go.”

 

McCree’s grip loosened a bit as he turned a disbelieving look to Hanzo, and Vulpes managed to get enough air to speak.

 

“I suggest you listen to your friend.” Vulpes wheezed, and gestured towards a patrolling Securitron that was making its way towards them. McCree let Vulpes feet more fully to the ground and adjusted his prosthetic so he was gripping Vulpes shoulder instead of his neck. It almost looked like a friendly gesture, if Hanzo didn’t see how Vulpes grimaced as his shoulder bones nearly creaked under McCree’s grip. The Securitron rolled by, only giving them a suspicious glance before continuing on, to Hanzo’s relief.

 

“Mighty bold of you to show your face here.” McCree looked murderous, the situation clearly feeding into his already present anger. “I oughtta kill you.”

 

“But you won’t.” Vulpes sneered at him unwisely, and McCree’s grip tightened enough that Vulpes knees went weak and Hanzo winced at the crackling noises that emanated from his shoulder. Vulpes’ tone took on a desperate note as he continued, “I have a message! From Caesar himself. He admires your accomplishments, and your crimes against the Legion are hereby forgiven. He sends this token, his Mark, as a gesture of his goodwill. He will not extend this mercy again.”

 

He held a flat medallion on a cord out towards Hanzo, who warily took it after a moment of hesitation. It had a bull etched on one side, and the profile of a man that Hanzo assumed was Caesar on the other.

 

“My Lord requires your presence at his camp, at Fortification Hill. This Mark will guarantee your safe-conduct through our lands.”

 

“Why the _hell_ would we listen to anything Caesar—!”

 

“McCree!” Hanzo snapped, seeing another Securitron rolling by out of the corner of his eye. “Be silent.”

 

“You’re not actually going to—!” McCree started incredulously, but Hanzo sharply cut him off again.

 

“Release him.” Hanzo ordered, straightening his shoulders and folding his arms. McCree just looked at him for a moment, his expression going from disbelief to anger. He turned his glare to Vulpes again, then yanked the man’s jacket open and retrieved a large, shiny pistol with a spur on the end of the handle from the chest holster he found there before releasing him with a rough shove. McCree gave Hanzo another angry, betrayed look and backed off with a sound of disgust to look over the weapon he had taken.

 

Inculta rolled his shoulder and dusted his immaculate suit off, and opened his mouth to say something more to McCree.

 

“You’ve delivered your message, and your package.” Hanzo said coldly before Vulpes could speak. “If you’ve nothing more to say on behalf of your overlord, I suggest you leave here. Quickly.”

 

Vulpes Inculta gave him a wry look, but must have seen the wisdom in what Hanzo had said as he gave a sarcastic bow and went on his way.

 

If looks could kill, McCree was shooting daggers into the man’s back as he left, Hanzo observed. The .44 that had once sat in McCree’s holster was replaced with the shiny pistol that McCree had taken from Vulpes, and it fit his holster perfectly, as if it was made for it. There was no doubt in Hanzo’s mind that it was McCree’s; Vulpes had likely taken it as a trophy during the events that had happened before Hanzo had walked into Nipton.

 

Once Vulpes was out of eyesight, McCree wheeled on Hanzo.

 

“What the hell was _that?_ ” McCree nearly shouted. “You’re just going to let him walk out of here? He _burned_ an entire—!”

 

“Not here.” Hanzo had had enough, and it showed through his tone. McCree’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click, and Hanzo realized his anger was likely written all over his face. Normally, he’d apologize, but he wasn’t in any mood to speak more than he had to, and he stormed across the Strip towards the northern gate instead of saying any more.

 

He needed someplace quiet, someplace to _think_. He had handled the situations with Benny and Inculta as best he could, but he realized now he was shaken. He had set out on this trip here to get his revenge, but he hadn’t gained any feeling of a job well done with taking it. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Benny’s last look of betrayal.

 

Hanzo cast a look over his shoulder at McCree, who was still scowling. No help from there, then.

 

Instead of going back to The Lucky 38 to talk to Mr House again or take advantage of the generous offer of the Presidential Suite there, Hanzo took them back to the Atomic Wrangler and booked them seperate rooms. McCree looked like he was going to say something, but Hanzo didn’t think he’d be able to have another conversation without snapping, and removed himself from the situation by entering his room and locking the door behind him.

 

***

 

The next morning, Hanzo made his way back to the bar at the Wrangler, where he found a disheveled McCree smoking a cigar, the remains of his breakfast sitting on a plate in front of him. He didn’t look like he had slept much.

 

“Hey.” McCree greeted Hanzo as he sat down beside him, sounding subdued. “Listen, about yesterday…”

 

“Are you sure you want to talk about it?” Hanzo checked the menu and waved the waitress over to place his order. He wasn’t sure that _he_ wanted to talk about it. McCree waited until she had left again before speaking again.

 

“Yeah, as long as you’re willing to.” McCree really did look apologetic, so Hanzo took a deep breath and motioned for him to continue. “I had a good long think about things last night, and I was… I was being a real asshole at the Tops. I just wanted to apologize about that, first of all. And then after, after…” McCree looked away, blinking rapidly. “When that _monster_ outside came to talk to you, I lost it. I woulda killed him right there, if you hadn’t stopped me.”

 

“I should have helped you do it.” Hanzo said with a vehemence that surprised even himself. He was feeling some regrets about that particular choice.

 

“Naw, you were right.” McCree ashed his cigar in the small glass tray for it nearby. “We’d be sitting in lockup right now if I had. We’d either get locked up in some hell hole or maybe they’d just drop us off in the middle of deathclaw territory. Neither sounds very appealing to me this morning.”

 

McCree took another draw from his cigar while Hanzo contemplated that. 

 

“You’re not actually…” McCree started eventually, but seemed to be unable to find the correct words, “The Mark, I mean. You don’t really…”

 

“It doesn’t change my opinion of the Legion, if that’s what you’re asking.” Hanzo said dryly. “And you, of all people, should know my opinion by now.”

 

McCree looked relieved by that, and gave a short nod. Hanzo’s breakfast arrived and he dug in, famished. McCree kept his peace while he ate, each of them caught up in their own musings. 

 

Once Hanzo was finished his meal, he pulled the Platinum Chip from his pocket and set it on the bar between their plates. McCree lifted an eyebrow, duly impressed, but the depressed expression from the previous day appeared to be making a comeback.

 

“So you got it after all.”

 

“I killed Benny.”

 

McCree stopped short at that. “You… _what?_ ”

 

“I lured him to his room, and when I couldn’t get anything from him I killed him, and searched his rooms.” Hanzo tapped the Chip with one finger. “I found this, and a robot named Yes Man that wants to help us take over New Vegas.”

 

“I… You…” McCree was at a loss for words. “You didn’t sleep with him?”

 

“What?!” Hanzo suddenly understood a few things a lot more clearly. “No! Is that why you were being insufferable when I got back? _That’s_ what you cared about?”

 

“Well, I mean, _maybe…_ ” McCree admitted, but put up his hands at Hanzo’s offended expression. “I’m sorry! I didn’t like seeing you put yourself in that position, with the guy that tried to _kill_ you and for all intents and purposes did so. And maybe… maybe I was a little jealous.”

 

Hanzo stared at him for a long moment, not understanding at first, and then feeling his neck and ears heat up as he realized what McCree was saying. _Jealous_.

 

“Sorry.” McCree said again, weakly.

 

“I… see.”

 

“You… you do?”

 

“I… I do.” Hanzo shook his head, too many thoughts swirling through his mind. “But I’m still… upset. Can we talk about this later? We have other matters to discuss.”

 

McCree looked a bit surprised at that, but relieved. “Sure, darlin’. Whatever you want. What’s on your mind?”

 

“We need to talk about what to do with this Platinum Chip.”

 

***

 

It took a while for Hanzo to paint the rest of the picture with the details he had gleaned for McCree, but it didn’t take long for them to determine that they were of a similar mind when it came to the residents of the Mojave and New Vegas. Neither of them were keen on the thought of having the NCR as a military overlord, and both agreed that Mr House was likely up to something. The Legion wasn’t even worth talking about. Yes Man’s proposition seemed to be the natural compromise.

 

That meant that their next course of action was to somehow eliminate Mr House and install Yes Man’s matrix onto the Lucky 38’s mainframe.

 

The mainframe inside the Lucky 38, guarded by a small army of Mr House’s Securitrons.

 

“So, you’re telling me,” McCree started slowly, “you want to go into the casino that’s been shut up like a vault for something like two hundred years, and kill a man that has somehow figured out the secret to immortality?”

 

“To hijack his highly advanced computer systems, yes.” Hanzo had the details of the plan worked out now, and was looking for critique at this point. McCree looked at him for a moment, clearly thinking it over.

 

“You realize your robot cowboy friend is likely programmed to fight you to the death if you do this.” McCree pointed out, referring to Victor.

 

“Yes.” Hanzo looked down at his hands. “I know. It’s likely the weakest spot in our plan for me, but I realize he’s simply an automaton doing what he’s ordered. I can’t let that stop me.”

 

“I can handle it, when the time comes.” McCree gently offered. Hanzo considered it for a moment, before nodding his head.

 

“Thank you, McCree.”

 

“Say no more. Well, if you’re ready, lead the way, darlin’.”

 

Hanzo wondered what he’d do without his companion backing him up.

 

Something told him he wouldn’t have made it this far.

 

***

 

Victor didn’t even see the shot coming, and Hanzo and McCree were free to stride past the smoking robot husk onto the elevator where Hanzo selected the penthouse suite floor.

 

“They’ll be ready for us.” Hanzo told McCree, who was already reloading Peacekeeper.

 

“That’s what makes it fun.” McCree grinned at him.

 

Jane wasn’t pleased to see them, and neither were the rest of the Securitron units that guarded Mr House’s complex. There were more than Hanzo expected, swarming in from various rooms while Mr House shouted instructions from the monitors.

 

“Just get to that terminal!” McCree yelled to Hanzo. “I’ll handle them!”

 

This was what their entire plan hinged on; that this locked terminal would be what lead them to the real Mr House. Hanzo bolted across the room, feeling the heat of a laser shot sear across his thigh, but he didn’t stop until he got to the terminal. It felt like a lifetime before he got it unlocked and the hidden door swung open.

 

“Go, go!” McCree shouted, waving him on despite being nearly overwhelmed. Hanzo hovered for a split second, considering going back and helping him, when he spotted another bank of terminals in the hidden room. Taking his chances, he ran for the nearest terminal that was turned on.

 

Shots pinged off the wall around him, making him duck down, but he kept typing rapidly.

 

The terminal finally unlocked, and Hanzo finally found exactly what he was looking for: the security override.

 

Everything went abruptly quiet back in the main room when he selected the option on the terminal. Hanzo peered around the corner, fearing the worst, but McCree was shoving the husk of a deactivated robot off of himself.

 

“Are you alright?” Hanzo ran to help him, dragging the robot aside and helping him to his feet. McCree’s prosthetic arm was sparking again, making him flinch, and he was bleeding from a couple grazes on his other arm.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” McCree said with some embarrassment, then winced as he put his hand to his ribs. “One of them snuck up behind me and put me in a bear hug. Can you help me get this off?”

 

Following his instructions, Hanzo helped him remove the faulty prosthetic once again.

 

“Gonna have to get that thing fixed up for real, one of these times.” McCree said mournfully as he watched Hanzo put it away in his pack. “That ain’t gonna be cheap.”

 

“Here, take this.” Hanzo handed him a stimpack from his supplies and watched worriedly while he applied it. McCree let out a sigh of relief as the stimpack worked, and he straightened a bit as the pain in his ribs must have eased.

 

“Thanks. Alright, let’s finish this job.”

 

It was only a matter of unlocking the elevator and descending to Mr House’s control room. Hanzo and McCree approached the lit up pod uneasily, and McCree cursed when he saw the emaciated body inside.

 

“That’s him? Mr House?” McCree shuddered in revulsion. “He calls that _living?_ ”

 

“That’s no life.” Hanzo grimly agreed, and used the terminal to open the isolation chamber.

 

It was time to start a new era in New Vegas.

 

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok real talk, I just about cried when Victor attacked me when I was trying to break into Mr House's place


	7. The Vault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yes Man has a plan and McCree is just going to have to trust Hanzo on this one.

***

 

“You want me to do _what_?” Hanzo couldn’t help the outburst when Yes Man finished telling him the plan.

 

“Take the chip to The Fort and upgrade the Securitron army before bringing them all back online!” Yes Man cheerfully said again. “We’re going to need them for when the Legion decides to make its move on Hoover Dam!”

 

“You realize that this secret bunker you want me to infiltrate is directly _under_ Legion’s main camp, correct?”

 

“Yep! I have a lot of faith in you!”

 

Hanzo sighed, rubbing his forehead. How on _earth_ could he deal with this? For once, he was grateful McCree wasn’t present for this discussion.

 

“Is there any way I could use stealth to enter this bunker?” Hanzo asked with a hint of desperation in his voice. “Not deal with Legion in any way?”

 

“Not according to any of my calculations! But didn’t you say that Caesar himself invited you to The Fort? Sounds mighty convenient to me!”

 

Hanzo pressed his fingers to his temples. He could sense a headache coming on.

 

“Alright.” He said finally. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“Good luck! And don’t forget, we will _definitely_ lose the Dam without those Securitrons and likely all of New Vegas will be enslaved if you don’t succeed!” Yes Man’s monitor went black as he went back to whatever it was he did when not speaking directly with Hanzo, leaving him to figure out what he was going to do.

 

McCree found him in the presidential suite of The Luck 38, sitting on the edge of his bed with the Mark of Caesar in his hands.

 

“What’s going on, darlin’?” McCree cautiously asked, sensing that something was wrong.

 

“I need to go to The Fort.” Hanzo couldn’t meet his eyes.

 

“You mean… The Old Mormon Fort?”

 

“No. Legion’s Fort.”

 

Hanzo looked up at McCree then. The colourful cowboy looked like he was biting his tongue, but was clearly not happy. His trip out to find parts must have been successful, at least, as his prosthetic appeared to be patched up and in a mostly functioning condition again.

 

“Go on, get it out of your system.” Hanzo sighed.

 

“ _That_ Fort?!” McCree immediately shouted. “Why the hell would you want to walk right up to Caesar’s army other than to shoot them in the face?! I mean, I’m all for _that_ plan, but it’s suicide!”

 

Hanzo waited for a beat. “Are you done?”

 

McCree flopped face down onto the bed beside him and heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, I’m done.” His voice was muffled by the pillow.

 

Hanzo proceeded to explain about the old weather monitoring station that was in the Legion camp, which hid the entrance into Mr House’s secret bunker. They needed access that bunker to use the Platinum Chip for its intended purpose of bringing the Securitron army back online with the needed upgrades.

 

“You don’t do anything halfway, do you?” McCree said when Hanzo finally finished.

 

“If we want to be successful in keeping New Vegas independent, we can’t afford to be sloppy.”

 

McCree groaned. “Fine. When are we leaving?”

 

“I can’t ask you to do this, McCree.” Hanzo said. “I won’t drag you into the middle of Caesar’s camp.”

 

“Well last I checked, you ain’t actually the boss of me, so I’m coming.” McCree said sweetly with a hint of a threat in it.

 

“McCree…”

 

“It’s settled. I’m coming. I’ll even be on my best behaviour.”

 

It took longer than Hanzo expected to get to Cottonwood Cove, which was where they needed to go to take a ferry to the infamous Fort, due to the route being blocked by an NCR encampment that had somehow been dangerously irradiated. The few NCR survivors of the radiation were holed up in a building just outside of the dangerous area, and informed them that they were looking at the remains of what had once been Camp Searchlight. As the survivors had been out on patrol when the incident that had caused the radiation occurred, they weren’t sure what exactly had happened, although they were convinced of Legion sabotage.

 

While Hanzo was reluctant to involve himself in NCR affairs, he _was_ interested in taking action against Legion. That being said, he already had his hands full with getting into The Fort, and so he promised them he would return once he had the supplies needed to infiltrate Camp Searchlight and they continued to Cottonwood Cove by taking a rather long detour, skirting the worst of the radiation. Even so, it dipped into Hanzo’s dwindling supplies of radiation medication as there were heavy patches that couldn’t be avoided, as well as a couple Glowing Ones that gave them some trouble.

 

Once Cottonwood Cove came into sight, Hanzo nearly stopped dead in his tracks. The Legion settlement that was built around their ferry to their main camp was a horrifying sight, even from that distance. Rough crucifix were set up along the road, and the camp was littered with high fenced areas where prisoners and slaves were held. McCree cursed under his breath.

 

“You sure you want to do this?” McCree’s jaw was set, his eyes aflame with anger and determination.

 

“No.” The weight of The Mark of Caesar hung heavy around Hanzo’s neck. “But we must.”

 

The settlement was worse up close. Hanzo tried not to look too closely at those strung up on the crucifix and the raggedly thin slaves watching them through the slats of their prisons. These were people that he could not save today. The feeling of helplessness only served to enrage Hanzo, but he forced himself to remain cold, collected. 

 

“What brings you here, outsider?” The ferry master asked warily when Hanzo and McCree stomped up the pier towards him.

 

“I’ve been invited to meet with your master.” Hanzo showed him the Mark that hung around his neck.

 

“You have the Platinum Chip?” The ferry master unexpectedly asked.

 

“How do you know of that?” Hanzo demanded, affronted.

 

“My Lord told me of you. He demands that you hand over the Chip and your weapons before we bring you to him.”

 

Several troops had gathered around, their hands on their weapons. McCree looked ready to draw his own, but was thankfully looking to Hanzo for instructions.

 

After considering his options, Hanzo reluctantly pulled the Platinum Chip from his pack and handed it over before beginning to disarm.

 

“Hanzo!” McCree hissed out in a whisper, shocked, but Hanzo motioned for him to be quiet and finished disarming. Looking upset, McCree finally did the same.

 

“Follow me.” The ferry master instructed, pocketing the Chip and handing their weapons to a novice that packed them in a duffel to be carried.

 

The ferry ride felt like a lifetime. McCree didn’t speak, but Hanzo saw him clenching his fist repeatedly in barely suppressed agitation.

 

Hanzo knew the feeling.

 

The main camp in the Fort was only slightly better. While there were still crucifix outside the main gates, most of them were empty. Slaves carrying heavy loads trudged up and down the path to the top of the hill where Caesar’s tent was located. Hanzo was barely suppressing his rage as he approached the leader’s tent, intending to sweep in there and get this meeting over with, as well as get the Platinum Chip back.

 

“Stop.” The guard at the tent entrance lifted a hand to halt them. “Only you may enter. Your companion must remain here.”

 

“ _What?_ ” McCree’s patience was clearly fraying.

 

“My companion goes where I go.” Hanzo said coldly. The guard simply held up a hand to gesture towards the large gate they had entered through, clearly inviting him to turn around and leave if that was the case. Hanzo huffed in frustration, and turned to McCree.

 

“McCree, I need you to wait here for me.” He stepped in close to speak lowly to the cowboy.

 

“Hanzo, I ain’t letting you go in there alone!” McCree kept his voice low as well, but he was nearly frantic. “This is crazy!”

 

“This is their game, their rules. I will be back soon.”

 

McCree’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but he stepped back and let Hanzo go, although Hanzo could see his fingers twitching by his empty gun holster.

 

“Be careful.” McCree’s voice cracked. “Don’t be gone long.”

 

Hanzo gave him a nod and dared to reach out and give McCree’s hand a comforting squeeze before turning and entering Caesar’s tent.

 

The main area of the tent ended up being open to the sky, with tents with open sides and various pieces of equipment sitting on tables within. Several bodyguards stood near the fur-lined throne with bull horns at the one end of the makeshift courtyard, and one of them ducked into the tent behind the throne when he saw Hanzo. Moments later, a balding, older man in red robes with gold jewelry swept out of the tent and took the throne, keeping his eyes on Hanzo nearly the entire time.

 

“So you’re the Courier that’s caused so much trouble for my Legion?” Caesar started brusquely. “And yet you dare come before me?”

 

“I’d hardly call defending myself from your pillaging troops ‘much trouble’.” Hanzo sneered at him, immediately put on the defensive. “And you’re the one that extended this invitation.”

 

Caesar eyed him with an odd expression for a moment. “So it's true then, what they say. That the injuries you sustained in Goodsprings included memory loss.”

 

Hanzo stiffened at that. How did this man know so much of him?

 

“What do you mean? And how would you know that?”

 

“Its of no matter, but I have eyes and ears everywhere.” Caesar said dismissively. “You’re the one that chased a man across the desert after he shot you in the head, the one that waltzed into a casino that has been locked tight for hundreds of years, and after you walked into The Tops the Chairmen no longer had a leader. When you set your mind to something, it gets done. I like that. The question is: are you ready to get started?”

 

“What is it exactly that you think I should do?”

 

“Down the hill, at the west edge of camp, there’s an old building. It was here when this camp was taken. Inside the building is a hatch, and inside that hatch there are two steel doors that bear the sigil of The Lucky 38 casino. That sigil is the same one that is on the Platinum Chip. Isn’t that interesting? Even more interesting, there’s a slot about the same size as said Chip on the console that opens the hatch. So you know what I think? I think that Chip opens those doors, doors that can’t be pried open, drilled through, or blasted open. You want to know how I know all that? I’ve tried.”

 

Could this really be so easy? Hanzo felt a surge of contempt and giddiness as he predicted where this conversation was going to go. Was Caesar actually offering to send him into the very building he had come here to infiltrate?

 

With some effort, Hanzo kept his expression stern and tone cold.

 

“You still haven’t gotten to the part of what you want me to do about it.”

 

“We suspect Mr House has some sort of weapon down there. We don’t know what it is, and don’t care. House built it. I want it taken care of.”

 

“Couldn’t any of your Legionaries take care of this?” Hanzo was suspicious of Caesar’s intentions. He had the Chip, now. Why would he want to deal any further with him?

 

“Yes, but then I’d have to kill them.” Caesar said calmly. “You don’t get it, do you? The weapons I wield are forged from blood, flesh, sinew, bone. Mortal stuff. Fragile, even. And yet my Legion obeys me even unto death. Why? Because they live to serve the greater good, and they know of no alternatives. House’s machines, his technology; what do they propose? The possibility of victory without sacrifice. No blood spilled, just rivets and steel. That’s not an idea to be put into circulation. If mankind is to survive this moment in history, it needs warriors, not gadgets.”

 

Hanzo was even more contemptuous of Caesar now; this leader that demanded absolute loyalty and intentionally left his followers blind and uneducated while he fed them into his machine of war.

 

“What is it that you want me to do to ‘take care of’ it once I’m inside?” Hanzo just wanted this conversation to be over.

 

“I want you to destroy whatever it is you find inside.” Caesar said. “And then I want you to come back here and tell me about it. So go to that building and take this Chip with you. My Legionaries will meet you there with your weapons.”

 

Hanzo took the Chip and left the tent without another word, grateful to get out of the hateful man’s space. The only part he dreaded of this plan was the one where he was supposed to return to Caesar. If the man was ready to kill his own troops that entered the bunker, who was to say he wouldn’t do the same to Hanzo?

 

He collected McCree at the tent flap with merely a look, and they headed to the west side of the camp while Hanzo filled McCree in on what had happened inside the tent.

 

“What a load of brahmin shit!” McCree finally exclaimed, stopping dead in his tracks. “He must be out of his mind!”

 

“I cannot claim that he is not mad, but he is not stupid, either.” Hanzo admitted. “Let us only be grateful that we got the Chip back for the purpose we needed it for.”

 

“That _was_ a ballsy gamble.” McCree grumbled, catching up to Hanzo. “Glad it paid off, at least.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“And you know going back to talk to him after is a bad idea, right?”

 

“Yes.” Hanzo said. “We shall see what happens.”

 

They were allowed into the weather station without any hassle, and the guard inside handed their weapons back to them. McCree gave Peacekeeper a twirl and reholstered her, shooting the guard a dirty look.

 

“Caesar has put a lot of trust in you. Be worth it.” The guard said snarkily. Hanzo didn’t bother to respond, breezing past him into the room.

 

A terminal sat flickering on a nearby desk, but Hanzo didn’t think that would be the console he was looking for. In another corner, a large console hummed quietly, the gauges and indecipherable readings vibrating slightly. Hanzo approached it with the Platinum Chip in hand, and after a moment of hesitation, slid it into the slot that seemed to fit it perfectly. The console beeped and hummed for a moment, then spit the Chip back out into Hanzo’s hand.

 

A hatch in the floor nearby slid open, lights flicking on to illuminate a staircase. Hanzo and McCree cautiously descended into another room where the large metal doors with The Lucky 38 sigil sat. At first, Hanzo thought that the Chip hadn’t worked, but as they approached the doors slid open, revealing an elevator.

 

Exchanging a look with McCree, Hanzo straightened his shoulders and lead the way into Mr House’s secret bunker.

 

***

 

Hours later, Hanzo and McCree staggered out of the hatch and back into the weather monitoring station, both men suffering from moderate radiation sickness. If Hanzo had known that the radiation would be near constant in the underground bunker, he would have attempted to collect more Rad-X before entering, but what was done was done. McCree slid down the wall to sit on the floor, looking slightly green in the face. Hanzo suspected the reason why neither of them had vomited was simply because it had been many hours since they had eaten last.

 

Hanzo crouched down beside McCree and rummaged through his pack for the Radaway.

 

“Here.” Hanzo murmured, holding his hand out, and McCree wordless put his arm in Hanzo’s grasp to allow him to insert the cannula for the dose of Radaway. Once the medication was flowing, Hanzo applied another bag to his own arm and sat down beside McCree with a tired sigh, closing his eyes and wondering if he could get away with having a nap here.

 

A boot nudging his made him open his eyes again, to see the weather station guard standing over him.

 

“You have carried out Caesar’s will, but I must confiscate your weapons once more before you go to speak with him.”

 

Hanzo blew out a sigh. This was a problem he had hoped to avoid by walking straight out of the main gate as soon as they emerged, but Caesar taking their weapons amounted to holding hostages for both Hanzo and McCree. While Hanzo’s lovingly cared-for and upgraded sniper rifle did not match Peacekeeper in style, he was still fiercely protective of it.

 

“Fine.” Hanzo reluctantly handed over his weapons once more, daring to keep Benny’s small pistol with the name ‘Maria’ engraved on the barrel in his boot. McCree simply handed Peacekeeper to Hanzo to turn over with his usual handful of grenades, simply too sick to protest, and Hanzo didn’t mention the combat knife in McCree’s boot either. The guard seemed satisfied.

 

“You’re free to return to Caesar.”

 

“We will, in a moment.” Hanzo told him wearily.

 

When the bags of medication were emptied, Hanzo put everything away and slowly got to his feet, his joints and muscles aching, but overall feeling better. He was glad that between the two of them and a helpful magazine about old-time computer systems, they had been able to disable most of the bunker’s security features. But even with doing that, there had been a fair amount of unhappy security bots that they had to deal with. McCree had taken the worst of it, when one had gotten in a lucky swing while he had been distracted with another.

 

Still on the floor, McCree looked like he didn’t want to move, but he allowed Hanzo to pull him to his own feet. 

 

“Almost done.” Hanzo told him, and he nodded.

 

“Can’t say I’m happy to be here, darlin’, but I’m right behind ya.”

 

The trust that McCree put in him was staggering, considering everything that Legion had done to the cowboy over the course of his life. Hanzo wasn’t sure that he was worthy of such trust, but the sentiment in McCree’s statement warmed something in his chest.

 

It was time to talk to Caesar again.

 

The walk to the tent felt longer this time, and Hanzo started thinking longingly of the comfortable bed in the presidential suite in The Lucky 38. 

 

Fortunately, the guard did not protest McCree’s presence this time, and he came to stand a few feet behind Hanzo’s right shoulder in front of Caesar’s throne.

 

“I felt the ground shake a while ago.” Caesar sounded pleased. “I’ll take that as a sign you got the job done.”

 

“As you said, once I set my mind to something, it gets done.” Hanzo said blithely.

 

“There are rewards for doing as I command.” Caesar tossed him a bag, which he caught with one hand. It clinked heavily with caps. “Continue to work with my Legion, and your rewards will be rich, indeed.”

 

Hanzo hefted the bag of caps thoughtfully before putting them in his pack.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Hanzo said smoothly, and turned to depart, McCree hot on his heels.

 

“So you will work with us?” Caesar called after him, and the bodyguards closed in on him enough to make him stop. Hanzo took mental note of how pale McCree looked before he turned to face Caesar once more.

 

“I would be a fool not to.” Hanzo lied. “You say you have eyes and ears all over the Mojave; you will know how to find me the next time you need my services.”

 

McCree’s breath was nearly whistling as they made their way down the hill and back to the ferry, but to his credit, he didn’t say anything within Legion earshot. It wasn’t until they were safely out of range of Cottonwood Cove, the ominous green cloud over Camp Searchlight in sight, when McCree stopped him.

 

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” McCree’s voice was plaintive, eyes wide, clearly shaken. “What you told him?”

 

“No, McCree.” Hanzo took his hand and held it tightly, holding his gaze steadily. “I lied to him. It was the only way to get us out of there alive. I’m sorry I was not able to warn you.”

 

“No, that’s… that’s good.” McCree let out a gasp, as if he’d been holding his breath, still panting. He clapped a hand to Hanzo’s shoulder, looking relieved as the panic drained from him. “That’s good.”

 

***


	8. The New Era

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, injuries and blood ahoy so if that isn't your jam might want to skip the middle bit.

***

 

“How did we end up here?” Hanzo shouted to McCree, crouched behind a rock that a Fiend gang member continued shooting at.

 

“Well, this morning I said we should go for a walk-” McCree popped out from behind cover just long enough to get a couple shots off.

 

“No, I mean here!” Hanzo took his own shot and managed to down the last Fiend before turning back to McCree. “A week ago, we installed an A.I. defacto mayor of New Vegas and faced off with the leader of the Legion to get an upgraded army of Securitrons. Today, I’ve been eating sand during a windstorm in the desert, with bark scorpions chewing on my ankles.”

 

McCree laughed at that, tipping his hat back with his prosthetic. It sparked a bit while the fourth finger straightened spasmodically for a few seconds, a common occurrence these days. Hanzo knew he was going to have to find a professional to restore the arm fully sooner or later. “Hell if I know, darlin’. You lead, I follow. We’ve been collecting caps in the meantime, though. Those’ll come in handy later.”

 

“I suppose you’re right.” Hanzo sighed and flicked the safety on his rifle.

 

Since eliminating Mr House and installing Yes Man onto the Lucky 38’s mainframe, they had been doing odd jobs around the Mojave and meeting what factions of the desert they could. Some groups were easier to find and deal with than others. The Great Khans had been the easiest so far, remembering what they had done for their cornered members in Boulder City. Hanzo had been glad that they went to the Great Khan stronghold when they did; one of Caesar’s emissaries had been working on gaining the tribe’s trust in an effort to enslave them for the Legion. Neither Hanzo nor McCree were going to stand around and watch _that_ happen. Still, it had meant a lot of travel, as they approached the different advisors of the tribe to convince them of the Legion’s nefarious plans. 

 

It had all taken long enough that Hanzo thought longingly of what a real bed felt like. The presidential suite at the Lucky 38 was sounding more appealing all the time. Perhaps they needed a break, and an opportunity to resupply. Hanzo _was_ running low on the ammo for his sniper rifle.

 

The rifle was suddenly knocked from his grip with an alarming _twang_ sound, stunning Hanzo. He went to pick it up again, but the stock was splintered, the trigger destroyed. His hands were bleeding from several small cuts. Hanzo finally looked up at McCree, trying to understand what had just happened.

 

“Legion.” McCree snarled, Peacekeeper already back in his hand as he looked out into the desert. 

 

Hanzo looked, and saw what McCree was glaring at. A large troop of Legion was running for them, waving their weapons. Hanzo realized one of them had shot his rifle from his hands; he was lucky it hadn’t killed him. He grabbed his 10mm and joined McCree in fighting back, but it wasn’t long before the Legion were close enough for hand to hand combat.

 

Apparently Caesar knew enough of their activities that he had withdrawn his forgiveness. Hanzo found that he didn’t care.

 

McCree let out a wild yell as he engaged the first one, and Hanzo was forced to drop his empty 10mm and go for his knife instead. A thrown spear grazed his arm painfully and a novice with a machete rushed him. He was able to duck the first swing and got within an arm’s length to bury his knife rapid-fire a few times before letting the man drop to the sand and whirling around to face the next. There were too many of them to choose from. A glance towards McCree showed that the cowboy was being overwhelmed, almost hidden amongst the Legion troops.

 

Hanzo spotted a bow laying in the sand beside a couple arrows that had spilled from a quiver - likely the weapon of one of the Legion that had been killed already - and he dove for the items, rolling to a kneel with the weapon already nocked and drawn with no conscious thought. 

 

The bow fit his hands comfortably, feeling like an extension of his body, but he didn’t have time to think about it as powerful words he didn’t know tore from his lips just as he released the arrow.

 

“ _Ryuuga wagateki wo kurau!_ ”

 

Blinding, blue light flooded his vision and his ears were filled with a roar as he felt something leave him, something that had filled a spot inside his chest that he hadn’t been aware of until now. 

 

He watched, mouth agape, as translucent blue _dragons_ raced across the sand and overtook the Legion soldiers that were swarming McCree, tearing through them without mercy, dropping everyone in their paths with screams and lightning. He felt a stab of fear for McCree, stuck in the midst of the group, but he could also feel other emotions, emotions that weren’t his; rage, satisfaction, confidence, glee.

 

The dragons finished their rampage without leaving a single Legion troop standing and disappeared as quickly as they had come. Hanzo found himself staring wild-eyed across the sand at an equally as dumbstruck McCree.

 

McCree’s expression suddenly changed, taking on a hardened edge as his pistol seemed to appear in his hand as he aimed at Hanzo. Hanzo had just enough time to have the hysterical thought that his companion had turned on him, likely due to the terrifying light show that had just occurred, when the thought was interrupted by a sharp pain that lanced through his back and into his shoulder.

 

Hanzo looked down at his chest where his armour and vault suit tented out a bit, a gleam of metal just barely visible through a small hole in the material. It disappeared suddenly as something was torn from his back, and Hanzo felt his knees buckle as pain hit him like a super mutant’s sledgehammer.

 

He vaguely heard shots ring out, but he couldn’t see what happened, couldn’t pry his thoughts free from the agony that clawed at him. McCree was suddenly there, rolling him onto his side, his lips moving as he spoke, but Hanzo couldn’t hear him over his own choked scream and the roaring in his ears.

 

Everything was awful and hazy for a while, then McCree was bodily lifting him from the sand. It _hurt_ , bad enough that Hanzo momentarily blacked out. When he came around again, he became aware of being clutched against McCree, head lolling against his shoulder, strong arms holding him tightly and body armour digging into his shoulder. Each step jarred him painfully, and one in particular made McCree curse under his breath while Hanzo stopped breathing altogether and feebly clutched at his chest, only remembering to start breathing again when McCree murmured some encouraging words. It took everything he had to keep breathing; short, rapid gasps that couldn’t seem to get enough air to hold the black at the edges of his vision at bay.

 

McCree was saying something, his tone pleading, but Hanzo couldn’t quite make the words out. Something hot and liquid was running down his arm and tickling his fingers. Hanzo felt his head bounce against McCree’s shoulder once more before everything went black.

 

***

 

Hanzo awoke looking up at an off-white tent ceiling. He stared at it for a moment, trying to remember where he was, when his memories of what he had been doing before waking here came rushing back. He tried to shove himself upright, but a splintering pain in his chest and back forced him back down with a gasp. He sensed a flurry of movement off to his side, but he was preoccupied as he wheezed and tried to weather the pain. It wasn’t as bad as he remembered it being, before, but it still stole his breath away.

 

A woman with hair like the sun was suddenly there, leaning over him with a pinched expression on her face. He briefly felt fingers at the pulse in his neck, then on his forehead, before warmth flooded up his arm.

 

It didn’t take long for the band around his chest to ease, and the jagged pain lost its edges, enough that he was able to catch his breath and relax his muscles enough to settle back down against the mattress beneath him. 

 

“Can you hear me?” The woman’s voice was as angelic as her appearance, with an accent he didn’t recognize. “How is the pain now?”

 

“Better…” Hanzo said in a bit of a daze, grateful that the worst of it was tamed. His eyelids were incredibly heavy now, but he stubbornly clung to consciousness. “Thank you…”

 

The woman’s expression cleared a bit, but her demeanour remained somewhat cold and professional as she continued. “My apologies for your rude awakening. Your medication wore off much more quickly than I expected. My name is Dr Ziegler, and I’d like to run a few simple tests.”

 

“What… happened?” Hanzo could barely remember his last moments of consciousness, and definitely didn’t remember how he had gotten here.

 

“You were attacked by Legion, according to McCree. You’re very lucky to be alive.”

 

“McCree?” Hanzo tried to lift his head to look for his companion, but the tent seemed to be empty other than them.

 

“He isn’t far. Focus here, please.”

 

Dr Ziegler proceeded with her simple physical tests while explaining that a spear had entered his back just below his rib cage and exited near his armpit, the blow administered by a Legion officer that had been crouched behind him. The angle of the strike was what had saved him, nicking organs and veins instead of outright puncturing or severing completely; but despite all that a massive amount of damage had still been sustained. 

 

“Can you tell me your name?” Dr Ziegler finished with her physical tests and turned to his mental state.

 

“Hanzo Shi…” Hanzo started to say, the second name starting to naturally fall off his tongue before it felt like he had forgotten what he was going to say. He frowned and squeezed his eyes shut, disconcerted, before opening his eyes again. “I don’t know my last name. But I think… I think I almost remembered it, just now.”

 

Dr Ziegler’s expression could only be described as hard, now. “McCree told me very little, but he mentioned your pre-existing condition. I have a treatment that will help with your newest injuries, and it could potentially help with your amnesia as well. I need your permission to continue with it, however. It’s a new technology I’ve been working on, and I consider it to be experimental at this point.”

 

Hanzo could only stare at her for a moment, dumbstruck. A thousand different thoughts whirled about his mind. Did he even want the treatment? He had woken up many times since that night in Novac, breathless from the terror of forgotten nightmares. He was still fairly certain that there was some things in his past that he didn’t want to remember.

 

Pain rippled through his torso with another breath, making him wince.

 

“I highly recommend it.” Dr Ziegler said in a pointed tone.

 

“I- I need to- Can I think about it?” Hanzo shifted restlessly, overwhelmed.

 

“Of course. I will be back soon.” Dr Ziegler sailed out of the tent, abruptly leaving him alone.

 

Hanzo took a steadying breath, trying to calm himself. He shakily lifted his left hand to rub his temple, where a headache was threatening to build, and stopped short when he saw the tattoo.

 

He had known about the dragon tattoo ever since he had woken up in Goodsprings, had looked at it in the mirror a few times, but now he looked at it like he had never seen it before. He distinctly remembered the moment the dragons had surged through him and torn apart the Legion troops; he didn’t think that had been imagined. He could feel them now, gently rippling under the surface. The feeling was centered mostly within his chest, but something intuitive told him the connection was tied here, anchored within his tattooed arm. They were quiet, even content, at the moment. Now that Hanzo could feel the distinction between himself and them, he realized that many of the emotions and thoughts he had kept a firm rein on and tamped down frequently were not only from himself.

 

He had no idea how long he had lived with these dragons inside him, but he was beginning to suspect it had been a while. All the times he had kept a neutral expression when some other emotion had been roiling within… He suspected he had had some practise.

 

The soft tent door was pushed aside, letting in some sunlight before the entryway darkened again. Hanzo managed to turn his head to see McCree standing there, looking at him with a wary expression.

 

“Howdy.” McCree finally said, stepping further into the tent and taking his hat off. He seemed unsure of himself, and nervous about something. It didn’t sit well with Hanzo.

 

“Hello.” Hanzo said quietly. “Are you alright?”

 

“Am _I_ -?” McCree huffed a ghost of a laugh, and came to drop into the chair by Hanzo’s cot, the tension seeming to drain from him. “Yeah, Hanzo. I’m alright. How you feelin’?”

 

Hanzo shrugged and grimaced at the movement, the pain lancing through his torso again.

 

“Guess that answers that, then.” McCree said, observing his facial expressions. “Ange said she’s patched you up as best she can at the moment.”

 

Hanzo just grunted, reasoning that this ‘Ange’ had to be Dr Ziegler. He wondered if she had told McCree about the experimental treatment as well.

 

McCree’s eyes were on Hanzo’s tattoo now, fully exposed at the moment as he was laying shirtless on the cot with the covers only pulled up to his waist. Hanzo waited, unsure of what to say, feeling strangely exposed under McCree’s scrutiny.

 

“Did you know?” McCree finally asked, jerking his chin towards the tattooed arm. Hanzo blinked, then turned his own gaze to his arm.

 

“No.” Hanzo moved his hand, watching the scales and storm clouds ripple with the muscle in his forearm. “I can… feel them now. I could before, as well, but I didn’t know… I thought they were my own thoughts. Emotions.”

 

McCree seemed to ponder that for a long moment.

 

“Well, if that ain’t a hell of a thing.” McCree finally said, as if something was settled. “Y’know, the longer I spend around you, the stranger my life gets.”

 

Hanzo couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from his chest, but it didn’t last long as it disturbed the pain through his torso yet again. McCree leaned forward and placed a hand over his while he weathered the worst of it. While Hanzo blinked away the reflexive tears when breathing came easier, he realized McCree was rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand. He wasn’t sure when it had started.

 

“Dr Ziegler mentioned an experimental treatment.” Hanzo told McCree between breaths, keeping his voice low and slow to avoid aggravating his injuries more. “It might help with my amnesia.”

 

The soothing circles stopped for a second; surprised.

 

“What did you say?”

 

“That I… that I needed to think about it.” Hanzo found himself reluctant to admit. Now that he was saying it out loud, it seemed foolish to delay such a treatment.

 

“Nothing’s come back so far? I hear you, sometimes, having nightmares.”

 

Hanzo shook his head. “The dreams… as soon as I wake they are gone. Gone but a sense of guilt, and horror.”

 

“And you’re not sure if you wanna remember the memories that are causin’ nightmares like that.” McCree finished for him. “Understandable.”

 

“Truly?” Hanzo doubted it himself.

 

“Listen, Hanzo. Whatever’s in your past…” McCree sat back as he trailed off, suddenly lost in thought for a moment before finishing, “I’d be lying if I said I’m glad I remember all the awful shit I’ve done in my life. I’ve been trying to make up for it in the years since. And following you… well, I think you’ve been doing the same, knowingly or not.”

 

“You give me too much credit.” Hanzo said dismissively.

 

“Naw, I don’t think so. You don’t even remember what it is hounding ya, just that it’s nothing you want to mess with. But I ain’t seen you step on anyone else while you’ve been running. If anything, you’re stopping and helping others along.”

 

Hanzo side eyed McCree, but was unable to argue any further.

 

“You’re more astute than your cowboy aesthetic implies.”

 

McCree laughed out loud at that. “Well, if that ain’t the nicest way someone has ever told me I ain’t as dumb as I look.”

 

Hanzo found himself smirking back at McCree, unable to contain his humour. The sense of contentment grew, watching the small lines at the corners of McCree’s eyes crinkle as he laughed. 

 

***

 

It was nearly a week later when Dr Ziegler finally, and reluctantly, gave Hanzo the all-clear to leave The Old Mormon Fort, sending them off with strict instructions for Hanzo to not do anything strenuous for at least another week and to immediately return if any symptoms worsened. She seemed fairly certain that Hanzo would drop dead at any moment as he had not taken her up on her offer of experimental but effective healing, but Hanzo waved off her dire predictions and McCree gave her a cheerful tip of the hat and a promise to keep an eye on him as they made their way out into Freeside.

 

During his time at The Old Fort, Hanzo had picked up on cues that McCree and Dr Angela Ziegler knew each other from before, apparently having even worked together to a small degree at some point. It seemed to be part of the topics that McCree was still a bit reluctant to talk about openly, and so Hanzo let it be.

 

It was late afternoon already, and Hanzo found himself already feeling tired by the time they made it to the North Gate of New Vegas, having made the decision to stay within the city limits for at least another day or two before venturing further. Seeing the military faces instead of the police officers on the Securitron facial monitors sent another ripple of unease through Hanzo when he saw them; he had been against a military overlord for New Vegas via the NCR. Was he doing any better, with Yes Man?

 

“Anything particular you looking to do yet tonight? Get some dinner, maybe?” McCree asked hopefully, interrupting his thoughts.

 

“The Gourmand, perhaps?” Hanzo said with a straight face, but had a hard time keeping it straight when McCree swiveled on a heel hard enough to make his serape flare a bit. They had investigated the Ultra-Luxe the week before, just enough to learn that the casino’s restaurant had not been above serving human flesh on the menu once upon a time.

 

After the fiasco of preventing cannibalism from making a comeback at the snobbish casino, McCree had vowed to never set foot in the establishment again. Hanzo had secretly agreed, despite being disappointed. The food _had_ looked delicious right up until he knew the contents of the freezer, and being assured by the restaurant owner that they were not interested in cannibalism somehow didn’t bring his appetite back.

 

“You are a sick man.” McCree said mildly once he was sure Hanzo wasn’t serious. “I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about you.”

 

They ended up eating at the cafeteria style restaurant at Vault 21, their usual haunt when they were on the Strip. They picked one of the side booths after ordering their food, keeping to themselves. The rest of the patrons were busy talking at their own tables, creating a pleasant drone of background noise without being disruptive.

 

McCree dug into his meal with gusto, clearly famished. Hanzo picked at his own food, forcing himself to eat a few bites, and once his stomach decided it would keep food down he ate with a bit more fervor. After a week of broths and soft foods, his sandwich tasted like the best thing he had ever eaten.

 

Once his stomach was satisfied, Hanzo sat back with his drink in hand, settling comfortably into the corner with the wall at his back. He was tired, body still recovering, but unwilling to head back to The Lucky 38 just yet.

 

“Did you know Dr Ziegler, before?” Hanzo asked casually, leaving the question open enough that McCree could deflect if he truly did not want to talk about it. McCree hummed and took a sip of his beer, and Hanzo thought he wouldn’t answer for a moment.

 

“Yeah, I know her from way back.” McCree darted a quick glance about to make sure no one was within earshot, but continued in a low voice. “She was part of a group called Overwatch. They were a specialized team that worked with the NCR, but they disbanded not long after the Boulder City battle.”

 

“So you were part of this Overwatch as well?”

 

“Well, not exactly. I worked for the other half of Overwatch, the black ops side of things. Blackwatch. We worked alongside Overwatch, even shared a base, but we officially didn’t exist. NCR didn’t want to admit they needed someone to do the dirty jobs and Overwatch played along.”

 

Hanzo eyed McCree’s outfit - the bright red serape, cowboy hat, shiny gun, boots with spurs - and tried to imagine him capable of stealth required for most black ops missions.

 

“Before you say a word,” McCree pointed a warning finger at him, apparently reading his mind, “I was _good_ at what I did.”

 

Hanzo didn’t bother to stifle his smirk, but graciously changed the subject.

 

“Did they know of your… abilities?”

 

“Yeah, Gabe knew right from the start. After I’d been there for a while and smartened up some, he handed me off to Captain Amari for lessons a few times a week. She tried to make a sniper out of me, but I didn’t have the patience for it. This…” McCree tapped under his eye, the one that had shone red in the desert, “We called it Deadeye. Never did like using it if there was only one or two targets. Leaves me feeling restless, like I need to run a mile to get it out of my system. Cries blood a hell of a lot more, too. It’s better if I get at least four or five targets, so Gabe finally put Peacekeeper in my hand and told me to figure it out. The captain was the one that whipped me into shape with it though. Don’t think I’d be here without her.”

 

McCree looked lost in thought as he finished, staring at his beer.

 

“Where is she now?” Hanzo asked quietly.

 

“Dead.” McCree sighed. “We never found her body. Legion sniper got her. I figure it was probably Talon.”

 

“Talon?”

 

“Another specialized task force, like Overwatch, but took the Legion’s side. Nasty fuckers.”

 

Hanzo lifted his eyebrows and shook his head in vague disbelief. “Is this all common knowledge? Overwatch, Blackwatch, Talon? Should I know this already?”

 

“Nah, not really. I mean, Overwatch wasn’t a big secret, but Blackwatch was. Talon is a little more shady, more a rumour to most folks than anything. If you talk about Talon some people will claim to know all about them while others might think you’re a tin-foil hat type. I think that’s how Talon likes it.”

 

“So Talon still exists, but Overwatch and Blackwatch do not.”

 

“Unfortunately, yeah. I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve heard anything concrete, but I’m pretty sure Talon is still alive and kicking. Caesar has been playing his cards close to his chest lately, but I think it's safe to say now that he ain’t happy with us.”

 

“Oh good.” Hanzo said drily. “I thought we needed more of a challenge.”

 

McCree popped the last bite of his meal in his mouth and gave him a cheeky smirk. “Good thing you’ve got a cowboy with a Deadeye.”

 

“And dragons.” Hanzo reminded him.

 

“See? Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop us.”

 

They stayed and talked for a while longer, but once it was obvious that Hanzo was fading fast, McCree lead the way back to The Lucky 38.

 

It still felt odd, taking up residence in the presidential suite of the building that belonged to a man that they had killed. Hanzo tried not to think about that silent pod in the dark room far below their feet as he prepared for bed.

 

Unclipping his Pip-Boy to put it on the nightstand for the night, Hanzo’s attention was caught by a flicker of purple on the screen. He frowned and tapped the screen with his fingernail; he hadn’t been aware it was even capable of producing that colour.

 

As if it had been waiting for some sort of cue from him, the Pip-Boy powered up to the starting screen, but instead of the normal loading sequence a sentence was typed out across the black screen in a purple font.

 

> _Jacobstown. McCree can show you the way._

 

***


	9. Jacobstown

***

 

While McCree was as puzzled as Hanzo about who had sent the message, he did know of the settlement called Jacobstown.

 

“Kind of out of the way, but…” McCree hesitated.

 

“But what?” Hanzo prompted.

 

“Last I was there, the fella that made this for me was living there.” McCree lifted his prosthetic to indicate it. He had lost the ability to independently move the fingers of the metal hand, and it still sparked angrily if he moved the wrist too far. “If nothing else, I wouldn’t mind dropping by to see if he’s still there.”

 

“You could not mention that sooner?” Hanzo asked with some exasperation. “It’s been plaguing you for some time, now.”

 

“I was trying to save up some more caps for it.” McCree admitted sheepishly. “His work ain’t cheap.”

 

Hanzo sighed at that. He had tried often to talk to McCree about paying him for his time and skills, but the cowboy refused to take anything more than a nominal fee, just enough to cover his ‘bad habits’, as he put it. In turn, Hanzo made sure McCree’s equipment was well cared for, even finding a leather-treating oil for his holster and chaps. When McCree protested even that as being too much, Hanzo simply told him if he was going to be seen with a cowboy, it wouldn’t be with a dusty, frayed cowboy.

 

At an impasse, the situation had become the unspoken norm for the pair.

 

“How long will it take us to get there?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. Suppose we could do it in a day, if we don’t dawdle too much.”

 

Hanzo absently prodded the bandages that still encircled his chest and shoulder, mentally debating on whether it would slow him or not. McCree noticed.

 

“We don’t have to do that, though.” McCree added hastily. “Be better to take a couple days, anyway.”

 

“Thank you for your concern,” Hanzo said dryly, “but I am fine.”

 

“Says the guy that took a spear through the chest.”

 

“I’m _fine_.”

 

McCree looked skeptical, but appeared to let it go. “Alright. Wouldn’t mind going on a bit of a walk around, anyway.”

 

It took longer than Hanzo expected to prepare for the trip, but there was much to do. He had to replace his rifle that had been destroyed in the Legion attack, repair armour and miscellaneous weapons and gear that always seemed to come in handy, stock up on food and medical supplies, and a few other odd jobs that McCree suggested doing. However, when day two of preparations passed Hanzo began to suspect that McCree’s odd jobs were a form of stalling. Once he called the cowboy out on it, McCree agreed to be ready to leave early the next morning, no more procrastination.

 

The journey to Jacobstown was mostly uneventful, the only interruptions being the occasional cazador, giant mantis, and a particularly strange stretch where they had to skirt carefully around a herd of territorial bighorners. Instead of stopping for the night and making camp out in the open on the mountain, Hanzo decided to push on for the settlement.

 

He could barely make out the details of the settlement as they drew nearer, but Hanzo got the impression that the entire settlement was surrounded by a fence made of roughly hewn tree trunks, sharpened at the top and haphazardly but effectively lashed together. Dark, looming figures lurked at the gate, and Hanzo found his steps slowing as they approached.

 

“McCree…” Hanzo started uneasily, but it was too late. They had been spotted.

 

“Who goes there?” The supermutant called, instantly putting Hanzo on edge. His hand darted towards his new rifle, but the next words startled him enough that he froze. “If you come in peace, you are welcome, humans. You’re free to walk around, but don’t stare at the-”

 

“Marcus! Is that you, you ol’ son of a gun?” McCree exclaimed, sounding pleased. “I ain’t seen you in a hot minute.”

 

“I… McCree?” The supermutant’s widening smile was actually visible in the darkness, and he stepped forward to meet McCree’s clasp of hands, nearly yanking the cowboy off his feet in his exuberance. “Where have you been?”

 

“Oh, you know, here, there.” McCree demurred. “How’s sherriffin’ treatin’ ya?”

 

“Same old, same old. Just trying to keep the peace with the nightkin. You know how it goes.”

 

“That I do.” McCree realized then that Hanzo was staring, dumbfounded by the exchange. “Oh, Marcus, this is my friend Hanzo. We’re just coming in from the Strip, hopin’ old Torbs is still hanging around here.”

 

“Ah, I see. Well, you’re in luck; he’s still here. How bad is it this time?”

 

McCree sheepishly held up his prosthetic, the fingers an odd mixture of loosely flopping and locked in rigidness, and the wrist sparked and snapped violently, as if trying to tell its story of use and abuse over the last few weeks. Marcus let out an admiring whistle.

 

“Good to know. I’ll stay clear of the workshop once you get in there.”

 

“Aw.” McCree deflated. “You think he’ll be that mad?”

 

“About one of his pet projects being brought back in that kind of shape? Yeah. But you’re lucky, I think he’s already gone to bed. You get a reprieve for at least one night.”

 

“Well thank Atom for that.” McCree said, fervently. “You have any rooms available for two wandering souls?”

 

“Of course. But McCree, there’s something I should tell you-”

 

“McCree?!” A voice called out from the darkness, sounding filtered, like it had come from a speaker. A faintly glowing green light was coming towards them on the path from the inner settlement, coming faster as the person recognized the cowboy.

 

That voice… Hanzo couldn’t shake the feeling that he should know that voice.

 

“Genji!” McCree shouted in pure glee, bolting forwards to meet the person and catching them when they leapt at him to grab him in a bear hug. Their reunion was a rambunctious one, their questions and answers nearly running over the other’s, body language indicating that these two were old friends. Marcus only shook his head with a wry grin at them, clearly not surprised by their rowdiness.

 

Hanzo, on the other hand, felt frozen in place. He didn’t know this person that was wearing enough armour to be mistaken for a robot, with the vaguely modulated voice and glowing green lights, but something in him screamed that he did. His chest had gone tight, making it nearly impossible to breathe. The two entities living under his skin were restless, thrashing and amplifying the feeling that he should _know_ this person, tenfold.

 

The person that McCree had called ‘Genji’ suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, his gaze locked on Hanzo, and McCree seemed to remember himself, muttering a short curse under his breath.

 

“Genji, I-”

 

“Jesse, why is my _brother_ here with you?” Genji interrupted McCree, still staring at Hanzo.

 

The dark spots collecting at the edge of Hanzo’s vision were increasing as he grew rapidly more lightheaded, and something was roaring in his ears, nearly deafening him. His head _hurt_ , like waking up in Goodsprings all over again.

 

“Look, I can-” McCree was saying to Genji, but Hanzo lost the rest of it. He tried to lift a hand to touch his forehead, where the scars were, certain that his skull would simply split open under the pressure of his throbbing pulse. He dimly saw McCree lunging towards him, yelling his name, before everything went black.

 

***

 

Hanzo jerked awake and upright with a startled shout, chest heaving, heart racing.

 

“Whoa, whoa, easy there!” McCree was suddenly there, startling him badly enough to make him gasp, but he quickly recognized the cowboy and grabbed a handful of his shirt to steady himself. Tears were pouring down Hanzo’s face, but he didn’t know when they had started. McCree grabbed him in a hug, somehow completely enveloping him with one arm and the smell of cigar smoke and sunlight, and Hanzo clung to him back.

 

“McCree, I… I did it, I remember-” Hanzo managed to get out between heaving gasps, overwhelmed.

 

“Whoa, honeybee, its okay.” McCree rubbed his back with warm, soothing circles. “You say you remem-”

 

“I killed my brother!” Hanzo burst out, pulling back to look at McCree, wild eyed. “The nightmare that I wake up from, but it’s _real_. I killed him! I’m a _monster._ ”

 

Hanzo broke down then; great, heaving sobs wracking his entire body. He fully expected McCree to withdraw in disgust, but instead, he pulled him close again, holding him tightly as he cried.

 

“Hanzo, you ain’t a monster.” McCree murmured into his hair, resuming the comforting circles on his back. “I should know.”

 

Hanzo didn’t know how long it took to cry himself out, but he felt limp and weak by the time he partially extracted himself from McCree’s arm, eyes burning and feeling dehydrated. He looked around, taking note of his unfamiliar surroundings for the first time. The room was small but cozy, despite its plain furnishings, and late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the glass window. 

 

“Where… Jacobstown.” Hanzo suddenly remembered arriving at the settlement that night. “I thought… I thought I saw…”

 

The partially ajar door to the room creaked open the rest of the way, making McCree jump and swear, and the metal armoured man stood there in the doorway. He wore a large sword strapped across his back, a detail Hanzo hadn’t noticed the night before.

 

“Geez, Genji, how many times-!” McCree started. “I oughtta tie a bell on you.”

 

“Hello, brother.” Genji said, ignoring McCree’s outburst. “Jesse, could we have a moment?”

 

McCree sighed, but he didn’t seem surprised. He gave Hanzo another pat on the back and reluctantly got to his feet.

 

“I should go see how Torbs is doing, anyway. I’ll be down in the workshop if _either_ of you need anything, okay?” McCree made a point of waiting for at least a nod of acknowledgement from each brother before leaving them alone.

 

_Brother_. The word felt foreign to Hanzo. He could only watch wordlessly while Genji came properly into the room and sat on a nearby chair before taking his helmet off, revealing a shock of green hair with a generous amount of black roots. His face was scarred, but with the smoothness that indicated years of healing. Hanzo wasn’t sure what lay beneath the rest of his armour, and wasn’t sure if he was ready to know the extent of it.

 

“McCree told me how he met you.” Genji finally said after a long moment. “I should thank you. He’s been a good friend to me; to lose him to Legion would be a terrible loss.”

 

Hanzo shivered at the memories that his brother’s voice brought back, some of them teasing at the edges of his mind without making themselves clear. It seemed as though his memories were not fully restored, but what he did remember was damning enough.

 

“How… how are you here, Genji?” Hanzo’s voice was faint.

 

“I came to Jacobstown to join my friends,” Genji started, but Hanzo shook his head with a frown, interrupting him.

 

“No, I mean, _here_. Genji, I _killed_ you. I cut you down. I saw you _die._ ”

 

Genji slowly shook his head. “You cut me down, Hanzo, but I did not die. It was a near thing, but Overwatch found me. Their team medic happened to be a very talented doctor who was able to save me.”

 

Hanzo passed a hand over his face. “Her name wasn’t Dr Ziegler, was it?” He asked wryly. Genji tipped his head in confirmation, and Hanzo suddenly had a much better idea as to why Dr Angela Ziegler had given him such a chilly reception. He wondered how she came to be with the Followers of the Apocalypse; if it had come from the dispersal of Overwatch or if she had left voluntarily, earlier.

 

“It took many months of recovery, and many more of… adjusting, to my new body.” Genji flexed his hand and extended each leg in turn, demonstrating the abilities of limbs that were no longer flesh and blood. Hanzo felt slightly sick. “I was… angry, for a long time, which suited my needs as a weapon in the Overwatch program. But I eventually left them, and I found myself wandering, looking for a reason for my existence. Eventually I met someone - a monk - who helped me come to terms with myself.”

 

Hanzo dragged himself from under the covers that had been placed over him at some point to sit on the edge of the bed, agitated. That explained why Hanzo had encountered at least two of the ended-Overwatch members in the desert, but there was still more that he didn’t understand.

 

“I don’t even remember everything that lead to that night.” Hanzo nearly whispered, his voice cracking. “How I came to kill my own brother!”

 

“You may have wielded the sword that cut me down, brother, but I cannot claim to be innocent of driving us to that point.” Genji looked away for a moment before returning his gaze. “Do you remember our family, Hanzo?”

 

“No. I don’t even know our name.”

 

“Shimada, as in the great Shimada Clan.” Genji said the last part mockingly. The name seemed to click into place in Hanzo’s brain like a key, unlocking several more memories that had been dogging him. “Our mother died when we were young, and our father only months before… that night. The clan elders are the ones that demanded you to put me in my place.”

 

“We were still navigating a new alliance, and they didn’t want you to embarrass the clan.” Hanzo said. “They thought you would undo us, ruin the agreements we had.” Hanzo flinched at the returning memory, his hand unconsciously going to his forehead. “With _Legion._ ”

 

“So, your memories _are_ coming back.” Genji said with some satisfaction. “The entire time I was with Overwatch, I believed you had done away with me and resumed your place at the head of the clan, alongside Legion. It wasn’t until I joined Blackwatch that I learned you had disappeared less than a week after I ‘died’, leaving the clan in disarray. I admit, I exacted revenge on what clan elders I could get my hands on during that time.”

 

Hanzo just looked at him, mildly horrified but unable to deny he wouldn’t have done the same, had he been in his shoes.

 

“I had some issues to work through. It helped.” Genji shrugged. “I kept looking for you, but I never found you. I heard rumours of a traveling mercenary who would also work as a courier if the price was right, but our paths never crossed. Eventually, I stopped hearing anything at all. I assumed you had moved far beyond my reach, either literally or figuratively.”

 

“You looked for me…” Hanzo said slowly.

 

“To kill you.” Genji confirmed. “I was full of rage. I wanted revenge.”

 

When Genji rose to his feet, Hanzo nearly fell over himself as he scrambled upright and dropped to his knees in front of his brother, hands open at his sides and head bowed, completely defenseless.

 

“Please, if you would grant me one final request,” Hanzo said hurriedly, then swallowed thickly, “tell McCree… tell him I’m sorry.”

 

“What? One final…” Genji seemed confused. “Hanzo, are you _dying?_ ”

 

Hanzo risked a look up at him, his gaze flicking to Genji’s katana on his back.

 

“Oh, Hanzo.” Genji sighed in understanding, offering him a hand. “I’m not going to kill you.”

 

Hanzo gaped at him for a long moment before placing a hand in his, and Genji all but bodily hauled him to his feet.

 

“I- I _killed_ you.” Hanzo stammered out, confused. “I deserve no less. You are well within your right to kill me. You _should_.” 

 

“I’m not going to kill you.” Genji said firmly. “I _forgive_ you.”

 

***

 

While night had fallen, the settlement was still partially awake, lanterns and torches supplementing the light that came from the few and far between electric lamps in the large building that served as the main hall. Genji showed Hanzo around, introducing him as they went to supermutant, nightkin, ghoul, and human alike. While supermutants and nightkin made up the majority of the population due to the settlement being intended as a sanctuary for them, there were a fair amount of ghouls and humans, living alongside them in as much harmony as tempers allowed. While a few of the nightkin occasionally caused problems in the settlement, they were mostly appeased by being left to their own devices and Marcus’ firm but gentle guidance. Any racism or xenophobia was not tolerated in any way, and anyone who pushed the issue was subsequently banned from Jacobstown.

 

Hanzo found himself quickly becoming endeared to the settlement, despite his initial misgivings.

 

They found McCree in a large workshop that appeared to be half scientific lab, half iron working, and had ample room for multiple people to work. At the moment, the room contained McCree and a gruff dwarf that introduced himself as Torbjörn, as well as a large and imposing supermutant named Winston, his vibrant human friend named Tracer, Genji’s monk friend Zenyatta who turned out to be an actual self-aware robot, another human named Dr Henry, and his ghoul assistant Calamity. McCree seemed pleased when he saw the brothers, but didn’t pry into their affairs, choosing to clap them on the shoulders and offer Hanzo some food and water that he had put aside for him at dinner.

 

Hanzo gratefully took the food and sat on a chair near the wall, content to eat and observe.

 

Winston turned out to be extremely friendly, if not a bit awkward, and was constantly adjusting the glasses he wore as he worked at his terminal. Tracer, who’s real named turned out to be Lena Oxton, wore a glowing device strapped to her chest and seemed capable of zipping around the lab with seemingly little effort. Zenyatta appeared to be very peaceful, nearly emanating a feeling of calm, but easily displayed a sense of humour. Dr Henry and Calamity worked over a chemist set, often taking notes and murmuring amongst themselves.

 

Torbjörn was intensely focused on his work, several magnifying lenses in place in front of his eye as he carefully and methodically worked on the prosthetic arm that was laid out in pieces. McCree was watching him closely, stirring restlessly from time to time, but obviously didn’t dare disturb the dwarf while he worked. 

 

The group he observed was a strange one, Hanzo decided, but he liked it. Never had he seen such a variety of backgrounds working together so peacefully, clearly comfortable with one another. 

 

_Friends, family_ , something whispered to him, and without any particular urgency in that moment, _protect._

 

As the night wore on, people began to clean their areas and bid the others goodnight. Torbjörn didn’t appear to be quitting any time soon, completely absorbed in what he was doing.

 

Hanzo had nearly fallen asleep on his chair when McCree and Lena laughed at something Genji had said, rousing him awake again. His eyes were drawn to McCree, looking comfortable and happy, happier than he had ever seen him. Warmth flooded his chest, and he knew he wasn’t the only one grateful to see the cowboy this way.

 

Torbjörn finally put aside his tools with a satisfied grunt, removing the magnifying lenses and hanging them up before switching out the tool on his own prosthetic with a hand that rivaled if not surpassed McCree’s prosthetic. With a few expert snaps, McCree’s prosthetic was completely assembled, and a quick polish with oil and rag left it gleaming in the light from the fireplace.

 

“Here, try it out.” Torbjörn ordered, stepping back to allow McCree access. The cowboy picked the arm up almost reverently, but didn’t waste any time doing what he was told. The arm connected without a hitch, and ran through a systems check, flexing fingers, bending and twisting the joints, before settling and allowing McCree full control again. He looked at it in wonder, still trying the fingers and wrist out, every movement looking smooth and perfect.

 

Hanzo felt lucky to witness that expression of pure happiness on McCree’s face.

 

Once the lab was tidied to Torbjörn’s satisfaction, the rest of the group made their way out, waving good night as they made their way to their bunks. Genji offered to show Hanzo to his room, but as it was in the opposite direction of his own, McCree offered to do it instead. With one final wave, Hanzo was left alone with McCree.

 

“Think I might go for a smoke before turning in. You want to come, or should I take you to your room now?” McCree was kind enough to give him an out, but Hanzo took up the offer for a chance to get some fresh air - upwind from the smoking cowboy, at least.

 

The night air was cool, but not unbearable. Hanzo could see the mountains around them in the moonlight and realized there was actual _snow_ up there. Insects and frogs buzzed and chirped quietly by the pond nearby, and the guards at the settlement gates were standing at ease, no alarm in their body language. Peaceful.

 

Hanzo never wanted to leave.

 

“So. I’m not gonna ask about what you guys talked about if you don’t want to talk about it, but you two alright?” McCree asked after a moment, cigar tip glowing where he held it between his fingers. Hanzo only noticed then that McCree’s prosthetic had a few stylized lights placed at even intervals on the forearm, and another at the joint of his wrist. The prosthetic had been badly damaged indeed, if he had never seen them on before now.

 

“I… I believe so.” Hanzo looked out across the settlement, sorting through everything that had happened. “Genji told me that he forgives me. I’m not sure that I deserve it.”

 

McCree took another draw on his cigar, letting the silence draw out for a moment.

 

“Sometimes the ones we love give us a gift like that, even when we don’t deserve it.” McCree finally said. “There’s no working, buying, stealing for that kind of gift. Gabe gave me a second chance at my lowest point, and I’ve screwed it up a few times since, but I still try to do right by it. Every day. One step at a time.”

 

As Hanzo’s analytical mind went over those words, observing them from all angles, another piece seemed to fall into place.

 

“You… you knew who I was. When you first saw Genji, and how he reacted to me, you already knew.” Hanzo looked at McCree with dawning realization. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

 

McCree sighed at that. “Look, Hanzo, I’m real sorry about that. I did start to put two and two together, but only when I saw those dragons of yours in the desert. Ange recognized you immediately, apparently from your tattoo and the fact that you two look like brothers, but since you couldn’t remember anything anyway…”

 

McCree sighed again. Hanzo could only wait, speechless. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the revelation.

 

“I was scared, at first.” McCree finally confessed. “When we worked together, Genji had told me all about his awful, evil brother that had cut him down in cold blood. But the you I know and the you he told me about wasn’t fittin’ together right in my head. So when I walked into that tent, after you woke up after using those dragons, after you had nearly _died_ , I didn’t know who I’d be meeting. But then you opened your mouth and it was just you, the Hanzo I know.”

 

Hanzo’s lips parted but the words died in his throat.

 

“The Hanzo that helps out folks in need, even if it means doing the dirty work, the Hanzo that gives his last rations to families that don’t know where the next meal is coming from, the Hanzo that’s done everything in his power to keep the Mojave safe and free of dictators and overlords…” McCree shook his head. “That ain’t the Hanzo that Genji told me about. And now that we’re here, and I’ve had a chance to talk to your brother… His tune has changed, and not just from what I told him. He told me some of your family, what you had to do.”

 

“He told you how we allied with Legion?” Hanzo’s mouth was dry.

 

“Yeah.” McCree’s jaw clenched at that, but his expression quickly smoothed. “Wasn’t through any choice of yours, from what I understand.”

 

“I did not try very hard to stop my father.” Hanzo looked down at his hands, resting on the railing of the veranda that was built at the front of the building. “I even tried to maintain the peace with them, by killing Genji.”

 

“What made you change your mind?” McCree’s question was quiet, and Hanzo’s answer didn’t come right away.

 

“I lashed out at Genji in rage, struck him down with my katana when my dragons refused to do it on my behalf. I believed that I had done the right thing, for the sake of my clan.” Hanzo opened his hands, remembering the feeling of the hilt in his hands, the sight of Genji’s blood on the blade. “As days went on, I began to realize that I had only done it for the clan elder’s approval, but there was nothing I could ever do that would appease their greed. I killed my own brother, for evil’s sake. I grew disgusted with them, and our clan’s deals with Legion, and in turn with myself. So I left. I swore to never touch my katana again, and went out into the desert, fully expecting to die.”

 

McCree didn’t move beside him, appearing to have stopped breathing while he listened.

 

“I don’t fully remember everything I did during that time alone. I do remember that my dragons refused to come at my command, deigning me unworthy of their help. I did not blame them. I know I worked as a mercenary, taking jobs as I saw fit, and made the occasional delivery as a courier as well. I suppose I must have heard about Mr House’s delivery job at some point, and took up the package with the Platinum Chip.”

 

“And now we’re here.”

 

“And now we’re here.” Hanzo echoed. “In the desert, the last time we fought Legion… I thought I was about to lose you. I couldn’t stand that thought. I didn’t know at the time, but that was the first time the dragons had come to me since before…”

 

McCree stepped in close enough to press the lines of their bodies together, snaking an arm behind Hanzo’s back that held him close, but with a gentleness that told Hanzo he could easily break it without resistance. Hanzo met his kiss without hesitation, even grabbing a fistful of McCree’s shirt as if to hold him steady. When they finally parted with a gasp, McCree’s voice was hoarse.

 

“Hanzo, please, tell me it ain’t just me-”

 

In response, Hanzo wrapped his own arms around McCree and pulled him in for another kiss, nearly melting against the cowboy as the dragons thrummed with satisfaction in his chest. They didn’t part as quickly this time, but when they did, Hanzo’s voice was hoarse.

 

“It’s not just you.”

 

***


	10. You'll Know It When It Happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this chapter I just want you to know that I have NOT updated the major tags in this fic and will NOT be doing so. *edges away as to avoid suspicions and spoilers*

***

 

They had been staying at Jacobstown with no plans to move on yet when the message found Hanzo. Again, it came as the purple text on the black screen of his Pip-Boy.

 

> _The Bull makes its move._

 

It took a while to get McCree alone again without seeming suspicious to the others, but he showed him the message as soon as he did. McCree read it, then blew a slow breath out.

 

“When we leaving?” Was all McCree asked.

 

“It sounds urgent. I should go as soon as possible.” Hanzo had had a little over a week in Jacobstown to finish healing from his ordeal, and with help from Dr Henry he had no doubts that his health was back to an acceptable level for venturing into the Mojave on his own again. 

 

“ _We_ should go.” McCree corrected him.

 

Hanzo had seen how quickly McCree had adapted to life at Jacobstown, how he enjoyed being amongst old and new friends alike. “Jesse, I don’t want to take you away from-”

 

“You ain’t taking me away from nothin’. I’m going with you.” McCree said stubbornly, and that was that. 

 

It didn’t take long to pack their things and prepare for the road, but it did take a while to explain to the others why they had to go. Most were understanding, but Genji was still reluctant to let them go.

 

[You’ve only just begun to regain your memories, brother.] Genji said to him in their first language. [You are still gaining more, every day. I can see the toll it’s taking on you.]

 

It was true, from time to time memories would resurface as Hanzo and Genji talked, and whenever a particularly large amount came back it tended to leave him with a splitting headache and a wide variety of emotions that were difficult to manage, but the occurrences had been relatively few and Hanzo suspected they were triggered by their discussions, anyway.

 

[I’ll be fine, Genji.] Hanzo put his hand on Genji’s shoulder. He was grateful for the time they had had, learning to become brothers again. [But I am needed. I must go.]

 

Genji sighed, but he gave a short nod.

 

“If you ever need us, you know where to find us.” Genji told both Hanzo and McCree. “Winston has been recalling our old squad as he finds them. I heard even Reinhardt is coming back.”

 

McCree whistled at that. “Good luck keeping a low profile when he gets here.”

 

“You aren’t kidding.” Genji had his helmet and mask on, but Hanzo could hear the smile in his voice.

 

“Tell that guy I say hi when you see him, alright?”

 

Before Hanzo could take his leave, Genji stopped him by holding a fairly large case towards him. “Hanzo, I have something for you.”

 

“Genji, I couldn’t possibly-”

 

“It’s yours.” Genji interrupted him. “Lena found it at the merchant’s stand in the Crimson Caravan compound, recognized it from my descriptions of you when I was looking for you. One of the men that attacked you in Goodsprings must have pawned it. It had a little damage, but Torbjörn took a look at it and it’s as good as new, now.”

 

Hanzo reverently opened the case, hardly daring to hope but already suspecting he knew what would be inside.

 

“Storm Bow.” He breathed, running his hand over the bow. The dragons hummed eagerly under his skin.

 

“I think it’s time you carried it again.”

 

Hanzo grabbed Genji in a hug, overcome. If his eyes were wet when they parted, nobody said anything.

 

“Safe travels to you both.” Genji said. “And take care of yourself, brother.”

 

With one last wave goodbye, they were on their way back to New Vegas.

 

***

 

Everything seemed normal in Freeside and the Strip as Hanzo and McCree made their way to The Lucky 38, but the top floor of the casino was another story. Every monitor was on, and several different radio transmissions were being listened to at the same time. As soon as Hanzo and McCree set foot in the room, Yes Man’s face flickered into view on the largest of the monitors.

 

“There you are! I have some big news!” Yes Man didn’t waste any time. “I decoded a military transmission, and it turns out the NCR President is going to visit Hoover Dam! I guess he wants to boost the troops’ morale, but according to projections Mr House made, he has an 83.75% chance of being assassinated! Oops! Anyway, according to Mr House’s notes, he thought it was important to keep President Kimball alive!”

 

Hanzo was confused by that, but had his answer as to why he had received a message warning him of Legion activity. They must be planning an assassination of the NCR President, but that still didn’t explain why House would care about something that was clearly between the NCR and Legion. 

 

“Why would Mr House care if Kimball was alive?”

 

“Mr House ran projections on how the public will react to a defeat at Hoover Dam! Overwhelmingly, they’ll blame Kimball! But if Kimball dies, there’s no obvious scapegoat for them to blame, so they’ll blame New Vegas instead! That would mean reduced tourism for up to five years! The equations are pretty complicated, but Mr House sure liked numbers!”

 

Hanzo rubbed his forehead, already feeling overwhelmed with information.

 

“When does this visit happen?”

 

“According to the transmissions, two days from now!”

 

“Thank you, Yes Man. I’ll look into it.”

 

“Great! A Ranger has been placed in charge of security for the President’s visit! You’ll want to talk to him. And once the President is safe, there’s one more thing for you to take care of!”

 

Hanzo had been ready to leave, but that made him stop with a curious tilt of his head.

 

“This gadget I’m handing you is called an override module! Mr House had two of these made years and years ago - just like him to think ahead! Take the module to the El Dorado Substation and attach it to the power control terminal! I’ll handle the rest!”

 

One of the Securitrons handed Hanzo a flat, inconspicuous module. He hefted it in one hand, thinking, before putting it into his pack.

 

“I will get it done.”

 

“Super! When this is taken care of, we’ll be all set for the Legion to make its move.”

 

“You think that will be soon?” Hanzo asked with some alarm.

 

“Rumour says it will happen sooner rather than later! But why worry about that when you already have a job to do saving the President! Good luck out there!”

 

Both Hanzo and McCree were silent as they took the elevator down to the presidential suite, processing everything that Yes Man had told them.

 

“Does he always talk like that?” McCree asked as Hanzo trudged into the suite and tossed his pack onto the bed.

 

“Yes.” Hanzo groaned, flopping down beside the pack. “Benny programmed him to be ‘agreeable’. Insufferable, is what I would call it.”

 

“I thought Lena was a chipper one; I think she has some competition.” McCree mused.

 

“You have no idea.” Hanzo put the backs of his hands over his eyes, blocking out the light and trying to organize his thoughts enough to figure out what they needed for the trip to Hoover Dam. He had stayed on friendly enough terms with the NCR while also keeping them at an arm's length, but he was fairly sure that they would allow him on the site while this President Kimball made his speech to the troops. If nothing else, he could find disguises… 

 

His thoughts were interrupted when the mattress started moving, and he moved his hands to open his eyes just as McCree’s warm, heavy weight settled over him, leaving him face to face with McCree’s smug expression.

 

“So.” McCree said. “First time we’ve been really alone since we had that little talk the other day…”

 

Hanzo interrupted him by surging up into the kiss, wrapping his arm behind McCree’s back and flipping their positions.

 

Hoover Dam could wait for a little longer.

 

***

 

“I’ve heard of you.” The masked Ranger with the rough voice said thoughtfully the next day when Hanzo introduced himself and explained why he was there. “I’m glad you’re here. This is a delicate manner, and we need all the help we can get - from people we trust. There’s a lot to do yet, to prepare for the President’s visit, and not much time. Once it starts, we’ll be on a strict timetable. Are you ready?”

 

“A few questions, before we start.”

 

While impatient, the Ranger answered all questions Hanzo had on security and the itinerary.

 

“Honestly, my biggest concern today is Legion.” The Ranger confided in the midst of filling Hanzo in. “In fact, I nearly expect something direct from them, but considering the circumstances it could be something more subtle.”

 

Hanzo watched McCree enter the building from the corner of his eye, thinking about their last encounter with Legion.

 

“You can leave them to us.” Hanzo told the Ranger. “We’ll handle it.”

 

The Ranger, who had simply introduced himself as Ranger 76 when Hanzo met him, was now staring at McCree from behind his mask as he approached them. Considering McCree was in his full gear - serape, chaps, and body armour included - Hanzo didn’t think it strange that some people did double takes when they saw him.

 

“This is my partner, Jesse McCree. We will be working together.”

 

McCree tipped his hat politely to the Ranger, and he seemed to snap out of some revery. 

 

“Just don’t do anything too crazy, and we’ll back you up.” Ranger 76 warned them. “The President doesn’t arrive until tomorrow, so get some rest.”

 

“Do I know you?” McCree squinted and tipped his head while looking at the Ranger. “You seem familiar for some reason.”

 

“There are a lot of rangers.” Ranger 76 said stiffly. “I’m sure we all blur together.”

 

“Hmm. Could be right.” McCree said in his unconvinced tone, but he let it go and Ranger 76 went on his way.

 

Hanzo and McCree took the opportunity to look around the area, and found themselves standing at the cement barrier on the edge of the dam when sunset came.

 

“So. What’s the plan, darlin’?”

 

“I’m not sure.” Hanzo confessed. “I’m starting to wonder why we’re even here, to be honest.”

 

McCree hummed. “I hear that. To be perfectly frank, Kimball’s a bit of an asshole, if you ask me. But…” he looked around, checking for any NCR within hearing range, “our friend is right. He’ll make a good scapegoat. And if nothing else, it’ll be a good punch in the teeth for Legion, stopping whatever they’ve got planned.”

 

“You’re so certain they’ll be here?”

 

“Oh yeah. I know our friend is mighty good with getting intelligence, but if he could intercept and decode those transmissions, it wouldn’t surprise me if Legion has it too.”

 

“We’ll need to be on our guard, then.” Hanzo surmised. “Even more so than I expected.”

 

“I’m not worried.” McCree grinned, slow and easy. “We’ve got dragons on our side.”

 

“And a cowboy with a Deadeye.” Hanzo intoned the second part of their banter that was apparently becoming their motto. 

 

“That’s the spirit!” McCree put an arm around Hanzo’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Ain’t nothin’ stopping us from saving that President, darlin’.”

 

***

 

The next day’s events came quickly, and Hanzo was still nervous despite all the preparations everyone was making. The entire area was a flurry of NCR activity, which should have been a comfort, but Hanzo found himself being paranoid, wondering how many of them were simply Legion or Talon in disguise.

 

“Relax, honeybee.” McCree came up behind Hanzo where he stood on the promenade, arms folded and every inch of him tense, and gave him a short but vigorous shoulder rub. “We’ve got this.”

 

“I hope you are right.”

 

“I am.” McCree said confidently. “Listen: you can hear the chopper now.”

 

Sure enough, the helicopter called Bear Force One was soon landing on the landing pad above the Hoover Dam visitor center, and President Kimball disembarked with his retinue in tow.

 

“This is it, people.” Ranger 76 barked as the President made his way down from the landing pad to the makeshift stage. “Everyone be on your best behaviour, and keep an eye out for trouble.”

 

The president mounted the stage and began his speech, launching into it without any preamble, his voice a drone over the loudspeakers.

 

Hanzo shifted restlessly, eyes darting about the scene, trying to guess where trouble would come from. McCree gave him a nod before slowly making his way into the audience, carefully keeping an eye out for any suspicious guests.

 

Movement by the tower behind the stage caught Hanzo’s eye. He quickly made his way there, catching eyes with McCree and motioning for him to keep doing what he was doing as he passed.

 

At first, Hanzo didn’t see anything amiss, but as he drew closer to the base of the tower he found the body of an NCR sniper, a pool of blood slowly spreading beneath. The man was clearly dead, and it looked as if he had fallen from some height. Looking up, Hanzo spotted the barrel of a sniper rifle protruding over the edge of the tower.

 

Hanzo quickly scaled the ladder of the tower and near silently vaulted over the top.

 

“ _Holy-_!” The sniper startled, badly, when Hanzo appeared. “I mean, who are you? You shouldn’t be up here.”

 

“I’m working with Ranger 76, as extra security.” Hanzo said smoothly. “Just making my rounds. What’s your status?”

 

“Uhh, fine. Everything’s fine.”

 

“Are you aware that there’s a body at the bottom of this tower? An NCR sniper, by the looks of it.”

 

“What? Really?” The sniper sounded genuinely surprised. “Sounds like you better get down there and figure out what’s going on.”

 

“I already know what I saw. I’d like to radio it in.” Hanzo gestured towards the ham radio set up at the edge of the tower.

 

“No can do, sir.” The sniper said firmly. “The equipment is for military use only. But if something really is wrong, you should really go to Ranger, er, 76 about it.”

 

“I’m afraid I must insist.” Hanzo pressed. “You can relay the message for me.”

 

“You know what? Fuck it, this isn’t worth it.” The sniper grabbed his sidearm and almost had it leveled at Hanzo when he toppled over backwards, an arrow protruding from the center of his forehead. Hanzo quickly searched the man, and wasn’t surprised when he found Legion paraphernalia in his pockets.

 

Once he was satisfied, Hanzo stepped up to the edge to overlook the scene below. It _was_ a good sniper nest, he had to admit.

 

McCree was easy to spot, a spot of red in the sea of military armour and fatigues. He was still moving through the crowd casually, wending his way through without disturbing anyone. His body language said he was still relaxed.

 

Would this really be so easy? Hanzo couldn’t help but be skeptical. There had to be more to this. Legion would not send only one to do a job such as this.

 

President Kimball finally concluded his droning with some ending remarks, then began to make his way back to his helicopter amidst the polite applause. Hanzo traced the President’s most likely route, and his eyes snapped to the helicopter pad when something caught his eye.

 

Movement. There was someone up there, lurking in the shadows. Hanzo couldn’t exactly make out anyone, but something in his gut told him they were there. He looked down at the crowd and saw McCree squinting up at him with his hand shading his eyes, and Hanzo pointed towards the helicopter. McCree touched the brim of his hat as he turned and began making his way towards the helicopter pad, and Hanzo was grateful for having a partner that trusted him enough to act immediately.

 

“All units, respond immediately.” Ranger 76’s voice came over the ham radio just as Hanzo was preparing to climb back down the tower’s ladder. “We have signs of sabotage in the visitor’s center, and an unknown hostile in the area. We need to get the President back to his chopper and in the air, _now._ ”

 

Hanzo’s gaze snapped back to helicopter pad, just in time to see a shadow coalesce into an intimidating figure of a man dressed in black and wearing a white mask, a large shotgun in each hand. The President and his retinue were nearly to the helicopter, and several of the bodyguards surrounded the President to protect him as they rushed him to the helicopter while the others engaged the masked figure. McCree was almost to the ladder to the landing pad, and started running when the gunfire started.

 

Hanzo barely touched the ladder of the tower as he slid down and bolted through the crowd towards the visitor center. He was halfway up that ladder to the landing pad when he heard McCree’s voice coming from above, pitched higher than normal in distress.

 

“ _Gabe?!_ ”

 

As soon as Hanzo’s head was over the edge of the building he was just able to register that the President had made it onto the helicopter and the pilot was about to take off - and saw the bright red of McCree’s serape out of the corner of his eye - when the helicopter exploded into a massive fireball. Hanzo had just enough time to register the heat and noise before he was flung off the top of the ladder and down towards the hard concrete below.

 

***

 

Consciousness came back slowly, coming back in bits and pieces. Hanzo opened his eyes and squinted in the bright light, his hand coming up to shield his eyes. He vaguely realized he was laying on the hot concrete, and the shadows flickering around him were NCR troops rushing about in chaos, their shouts incomprehensible in the din.

 

Strong hands grabbed him under the arms and dragged him to his feet, and he automatically tried to keep upright with shaking legs. Once his arm had been yanked over someone’s shoulder and he was being rapidly lead/dragged off, he realized the person he was hanging off of was Ranger 76.

 

“What… what happened?” Hanzo’s head lolled, and he saw the thick, black smoke roiling off the top of the visitor center. “Wait… _wait_ , Jesse!”

 

“He’s gone, kid, and you need to get out of here.” Ranger 76 was an unstoppable force, not even slowing despite Hanzo bracing with his feet in an effort to brake them.

 

“No, he was just there-” Hanzo didn’t understand what the man was saying, still looking for a glimpse of a red serape. “McCree!”

 

“Listen to me!” Ranger 76 yanked him around to look at him and held him firmly. “He’s gone. Everyone up there was killed in the blast, except for you. The President is dead. McCree is dead. All those soldiers and bodyguards, _dead_. And you need to get _out_ of here before the brass comes looking for someone to blame!”

 

Hanzo froze in his grip, searching the mask 76 wore for any signs of this just being a massive, unfunny _joke_ , unable to even breathe. They were going to _save_ the president. Not… this. 

 

“Snap out of it!” 76 gave him another shake, and when he sucked in a startled breath, sent him stumbling down the dusty road away from Hoover Dam. “Get out of here!”

 

Hanzo could only do as he was told, limping and clutching at aches and pains that were beginning to make themselves known, trying to understand what had just happened.

 

McCree… He couldn’t be gone. He _couldn’t_.

 

A look over his shoulder showed that the smoke from the inferno of a helicopter was still belching black into the clear blue sky.

 

Hanzo staggered off the road and followed a small ravine until he found a boulder to hide behind and collapsed, unable to bear the weight of his injuries and the grief that was being amplified by the two deities that called him home.

 

***


	11. Something Lonesome

***

 

Hanzo signalled Francine when he saw her look his way, wordlessly lifting his empty glass. She gave him a short nod and finished serving the patron in front of her before approaching his end of the bar with the bottle of whiskey.

 

“Never took you for a whiskey drinker.” Francine remarked as she poured him another couple fingers. Hanzo, getting close to the point of comfortably numb, just grunted in response. “It’s usually McCree’s choice of poison. Where is that old cowboy, anyway?”

 

Hanzo’s fingers curled around the glass. He hadn’t realized that he and McCree had made enough of an impression that they were expected to be seen together, but it wasn’t that much of a surprise. However, he wasn’t numb enough for this particular conversation yet. He threw his entire drink back, savouring the burn in the back of his throat as he set the glass back on the bar top.

 

“He’s gone.” Hanzo said, trying not to think about the weight of McCree’s tattered and slightly singed serape, carefully folded and stored in his pack.

 

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” Francine sounded angry, ignoring Hanzo’s gesture for her to fill his glass again.

 

“I mean he’s _gone_.” Hanzo growled, clumsily swiping at the bottle of whiskey but she easily held it out of his reach. “ _Dead_. By Legion, no less.”

 

It had only been two days since Legion had planted a bomb in Kimball’s helicopter, killing the NCR President and everyone within a fifty foot radius. Two days since Hanzo had snuck back into the visitor center at Hoover Dam to look at the scene at the landing pad for himself. Two days since he had only found a twisted, burning hunk of metal, shrapnel embedded in the wooden door, burn marks on the concrete showing how large and powerful the explosion had been. Two days when he’d realized what bodies remained were burned and blackened beyond recognition. Two days since he had found McCree’s serape hanging from a snag on the ladder to the rooftop, as if it had gotten caught there and he had kept going without turning back for it.

 

Two days since Hanzo had gently covered each and every burnt body he found, studying each one carefully, searching for any identifying features and not finding any. He didn’t have time to bury them before he got caught, had to trust that the NCR would do it, properly.

 

It had been one day since Hanzo had staggered back into Freeside, alone and feeling gut-punched. The feeling hadn’t really subsided, and Hanzo wasn’t sure if it would. Drinking helped; for a while, at least. Hanzo debated making another swipe for the bottle in Francine’s hand again.

 

“Shit.” Francine actually looked shaken for a moment. Remembering herself, she pulled another glass from under the bar and poured Hanzo another generous portion and one for herself. She held hers up with a raised eyebrow in silent query, and Hanzo slowly lifted his to clink their glasses together. It felt right, a fitting tribute. Hanzo’s throat felt tight, but the drink went down easily.

 

“Shit.” Francine said again, setting her glass on the bar. “That guy was a cockroach. I didn’t think anything’d kill him.” She winced at her own words and flicked an apologetic look at Hanzo. “Sorry.”

 

Hanzo stared sourly at his glass. _If only_. That sought after numbness was too slow in coming.

 

The chimes over the door sounded as somebody came in, momentarily letting in some of the afternoon sunlight, but Hanzo ignored whoever it was.

 

[Brother.]

 

Hanzo’s hand clenched around the glass. His eyes burned. No, he was not nearly numb enough.

 

[I heard what happened.] Genji said. [I came as soon as I could.]

 

Hanzo looked up at Francine. He could very clearly see the whites of her eyes as she stared over his shoulder.

 

“My brother.” Hanzo told her. “He doesn’t bite.”

 

She tore her gaze away to look at him, still wide eyed, but seemed to believe him and relaxed a bit. “I… see. What’ll you have? It’s caps up front, here.”

 

“Purified water, please, if you have it. Make it two.”

 

Hanzo slid the caps across the counter before Genji could pull out his own.

 

“Coming right up.” Francine swept the caps into her pocket and left the brothers alone.

 

Genji sat down on the stool beside Hanzo, facing him, and Hanzo looked at him for the first time. His metallic body was dusty from the roads, and his cooling ports were popped and venting with a hiss. It must be hot outside, then. Hanzo hadn’t left the bar since arriving, so he hadn’t noticed. Function complete, the ports slid back into place in Genji’s shoulders as Hanzo watched.

 

Genji was alive thanks to that complex technology he now inhabited, due to another one of Hanzo’s mistakes. 

 

At least _someone_ had survived one of his spectacular failures. 

 

Hanzo went for his whiskey glass again, but it was empty. Francine set the water on the counter as she swept by, and Genji pushed one of the cans towards him. Hanzo didn’t want it, but he drank it to appease his brother.

 

[I’m sorry, Hanzo. I knew that you and McCree had grown close, but I’m afraid I… underestimated how close.] Genji hesitantly laid a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.

 

[He was private about personal matters.] Hanzo took another drink of water. His head was buzzing. Although he hadn’t had as much as he wanted, he could already tell that he would regret his drinking in the morning.

 

[No, he wasn’t.] Genji scoffed in response. [I know more about that man than any platonic friend has any business knowing.]

 

Hanzo’s snort of laughter sounded more like a sob. He found he wasn’t particularly surprised by the revelation.

 

Genji squeezed his shoulder gently after a moment, then, [He cared about you, too.]

 

Hanzo put a hand over his eyes, covering the tears that were threatening to start again. Genji just sat with him for a long moment, a warm and steady presence at his side.

 

[Brother, I’m sorry to say but… I have other news.] Genji finally said once Hanzo had collected himself again. [Winston has been keeping eyes on the Legion, with the help of some friends. And while you were with us, McCree told me some of what you had been up to, so I think it’s important that you know.]

 

Hanzo brought his eyes up to meet his brothers gaze, dreading the news he knew had been coming for some time now.

 

[Legion is amassing their army. We believe they mean to take Hoover Dam.]

 

***

 

“Exciting news!” Yes Man greeted Hanzo as soon as he stepped foot into the room with the large monitors. “The Legion’s massing troops in a staging area east of the dam! Attack imminent! Monster of the East, ready to roll!”

 

Hanzo just stopped in his tracks and put a hand over his eyes. Genji and Dr Ziegler trailed him into the room, looking around curiously.

 

“I see you got the override module installed at the El Dorado Substation!” Yes Man continued cheerfully, obliviously. “That’ll come in handy! So what would you like to do, boss?”

 

“I am too hungover for this.” Hanzo said succinctly, without moving his hand. The truth was more likely that he was too drunk for this. The hangover was still coming.

 

“We need to get word to the others.” Dr Ziegler said worriedly. “And alert Camp McCarran, if they haven’t been already.”

 

“No.” Hanzo retrieved a can of water from the small stash he had left on the penthouse level for the times he was here discussing matters with Yes Man for extended periods of time, and debated using one of the Med-X to remove the effects of the alcohol for this conversation. He jabbed it into his bicep carelessly and injected the contents before turning back to the others with a clearer head. “I am _not_ getting involved with NCR matters.”

 

“We would do well to fight alongside the NCR, Hanzo.” Genji argued. “The Legion will be at the dam in full force.”

 

“So will we.” Hanzo snapped, then winced when he realized he had still been including McCree in this part of the plan. They had known this day was coming, and had been planning it for some time. Hanzo had never considered the plans without McCree’s input, let alone planned for his absence when the day came. Hanzo briefly shook his head, clearing those thoughts, getting back to the topic at hand. “I have not been idle in my spare time, Genji. I will have my own army.”

 

“One you are confident enough in that you’ll risk all of the Mojave? We cannot afford to take any risks. The Legion will dominate every group of people that calls this home.”

 

“And the NCR aspires to take their place!” Hanzo didn’t quite sneer. “Would a military rule really be so much better? A military that has already spread itself thin in its attempt to retain control of those who live under its rule? The NCR preaches pretty words and promises, but is ultimately ruled by their own greed.”

 

Dr Ziegler looked offended, but appeared to make an effort to hold her tongue as Genji’s shoulders slumped.

 

“I see you have already made up your mind.” Genji finally said. “Will you at least allow Overwatch to fight by your side?”

 

Hanzo took a deep breath and considered it. McCree had never expressed disgust towards Overwatch or his own, shadier side of the organization, Blackwatch; more regret, than anything. Regret of how it had all fallen apart. He had seemed pleased about the resurgence of the group, had confided to Hanzo that he thought it was the best of the best that had been coming together in Jacobstown.

 

“If you would, I would be honored to have you by my side.” Hanzo said, mind made up. His throat felt tight. He had been wandering this desert, lost, unaware of who he was or what he had done, and when faced with the fact that he was a kin-killer, someone who had _murdered_ his brother, he knew he was scum that didn’t deserve a second chance.

 

And yet, here he was. Faced with the brother he had thought he had killed, somehow forgiven and even trusted.

 

Hanzo didn’t really know how to handle it, if he was being honest with himself.

 

Genji approached him and extended his hand in a hand-shake gesture, but pulled Hanzo in for a hug when he put his own hand in his automatically.

 

“Thank you, brother.” Genji hugged him tightly before letting him go. “We should go, and alert the others. We have preparations to complete, but we will be ready to leave by first light, two days from now.”

 

“I will be there.”

 

Once Genji and Dr Ziegler left, Hanzo was left alone in the penthouse to finish going over the plan with Yes Man, sending messages to the Mojave tribes he had befriended and hammering out details, going over what they would do in the event anything went wrong. The part that worried Hanzo the most was the fact that he would have to take another override chip into the control room at the Dam before Yes Man would be able to call up the upgraded Securitron army from beneath The Fort. If he was successful, the Securitrons would be emerging from beneath the Legion, nearly ensuring victory for them; if he failed, it would take every hand on deck just to survive, let alone come out on top.

 

It kept them busy late into the night, and Hanzo only dragged himself to bed for at least a few hours of sleep when he could barely keep his eyes open anymore, leaving Yes Man with instructions to wake him early.

 

It was time to break the chains that were threatening to envelope New Vegas and the entirety of the Mojave.

 

***

 

> _Freeside, one hour. Abandoned building, across from Mick & Ralph’s. Come alone._

 

Hanzo watched the purple text scroll across his Pip-Boy screen with dull eyes, having been awoken by the clicking coming from his device at 2:03 am. He had only been asleep for about an hour. He heaved a sigh, and debated the wisdom of actually doing as the mysterious source dictated. He did have a battle to win soon, after all.

 

He wasn’t sure when he had made up his mind, but by the time he had his boots on and weapons holstered, he knew he was going. Every motion was done automatically, without thought, his brain still carefully encased in the fog that had descended not long after he had realized McCree was gone.

 

_No, don’t think of that._

 

He hesitated at the elevator, wondering if he should inform Yes Man of his departure, but decided against it. With the eyes and ears the A.I. had everywhere, he would likely know where Hanzo was anyway.

 

The Strip was surprisingly quiet, despite the fact that the bars in the casinos would have closed only in the last twenty minutes or so. What people were out and about were strangely subdued, even the ones that had clearly been drinking. None of them were uniformed NCR troops, Hanzo noticed. Obviously, word of what was happening at the Dam was beginning to get around.

 

Hanzo headed into Freeside and towards the building mentioned in the note. He came around the back way, sticking to shadows and scaling the city wall to get a good view before he made the decision to go in. All seemed quiet, nothing moving in or around the building; a novelty, considering the half-dozen homeless that usually inhabited the place.

 

_There._ Hanzo spotted a figure inside, a dark shadow against the blackness of the interior. If he wasn’t mistaken, he had seen that shadowy figure once before.

 

Heart suddenly racing, Hanzo dropped gracefully from the wall and approached the building, still slinking in the shadows, Storm Bow in hand and an arrow nocked but not drawn. Whoever this person was, they would not be walking out of here alive. This was the one that had caused everything to go wrong at Hoover Dam during Kimball’s speech. This was the one that had cost Hanzo so much.

 

His own self-blame and guilt momentarily forgotten, Hanzo crept up to the building and silently scaled the wall into one of the busted out windows on the second floor, knowing it would have good visibility due to the mostly missing second floor, which left the three story building a hollow husk with piles of concrete on the ground floor. The shadowy figure below him didn’t appear to have noticed him. Hanzo silently drew his bow and aimed, the incantation to summon the dragons on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Tsk, tsk.” Someone clucked their tongue behind him, startling him badly enough his shot went wide, and he dove into a roll to avoid whatever was coming for him from behind. A shimmer of purple in the air, then a boot hit him solidly in the chest, knocking him from the crumbling second floor and into the rubble below. Hanzo hit the concrete hard, gracelessly tumbling and bouncing down the unforgiving pile and he came to a stop on the ground, bruised, bleeding, and stunned.

 

“That’s not very nice.” A chiding voice said from above him. “Trying to sneak up on people.”

 

“Then what does that make you?” Hanzo growled, struggling to push himself to his feet. Storm Bow had fallen from his grip, and he flailed about for it, but stopped when a small figure seemed to appear out of thin air with a giggle.

 

“Not very nice, I suppose.” The diminutive woman held his Storm Bow, looking it over with some admiration. It looked massive in her hands. Hanzo couldn’t help but notice the glowing purple lights on her armour, tracing her limbs and each finger.

 

“You’re the one that sent me those messages.” Hanzo spoke his realization as it came to him. The woman giggled again.

 

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner.”

 

“Sombra.” A voice like gravel said from behind Hanzo, making him spin about in a defensive crouch. He was trapped between the two, his only exits blocked either by them or piles of rubble that his injuries would not allow him to scale at full speed. They had him cornered.

 

“Aw, _jefe_ , I was just having some fun.” Sombra pouted. The shadowy figure, indeed the same muscular, leather-clad, shotgun toting, and masked man from Hoover Dam, just tilted his head at her. She disappeared with another giggle and glimmer of purple, but Hanzo didn’t doubt that she was still somewhere nearby, hidden by a stealth field generator. She still had his bow, too, but he still had his 10mm and boot knife. Not completely helpless. 

 

“You’ve been a busy man, Hanzo Shimada.” The gravel-voiced man said from behind his mask. Hanzo drew himself up to his full height, letting his hand fall from his aching ribs.

 

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” Hanzo said stiffly. How did this man know him?

 

“You can call me Reaper.” The man paused, then said, “you knew me, once.”

 

Hanzo remained expressionless, but he was inwardly cursing. He had no recollection of this man before the encounter at Hoover Dam, but he was still regaining more memories every day, and his talks with Genji had revealed that he was still missing more. He had no way to know if this ‘Reaper’ was telling the truth or not. 

 

“Why have you called me here?” Hanzo finally asked when it appeared Reaper was waiting for some sort of response.

 

“Your activities have attracted the attention of Caesar, once again.” Reaper said. “He’s sent me to reason with you.”

 

“No Inculta this time?”

 

“No Vulpes Inculta.” Reaper confirmed. His shadow seemed to grow taller and sprout more limbs briefly before subsiding again. Hanzo didn’t know exactly what he had done, but it left him feeling uneasy. “You should be flattered. Caesar only sends me when he has a _real_ problem.”

 

Hanzo just folded his arms in response, a frown furrowing his brow. While he knew he needed to tread carefully, he refused to be intimidated by this man. 

 

“Caesar formally, and politely, asks that you cease and desist.” Reaper continued, unphased. 

 

“And why would I want to do that?”

 

“We have a bargaining chip.” Reaper shrugged. “A good one, if rumours can be believed.”

 

While Hanzo knew he would feel the loss of Storm Bow keenly, he couldn’t justify giving up now. Not when he was so close to driving the Legion out of the Mojave for good.

 

“Is he so certain he has anything I could possibly want that much?” Hanzo sneered. “I’m afraid he’ll be disappointed.”

 

“I’m not so sure.” Reaper said, and made a motion with his hand. Sombra reappeared beside him with a motionless figure lying on the ground by her feet.

 

Hanzo’s breath caught, and his vision nearly tunneled. Reaper reached down and grabbed McCree’s arm to haul him up. McCree didn’t resist, his head lolling limply on his shoulders. Hanzo felt like he had been punched in the gut, frozen, staring, hardly daring to believe his eyes.

 

Reaper gave McCree a shake, eliciting a faint groan from the cowboy. McCree’s wrists were bound behind his back, and the way Reaper held him up by his bicep left his other arm folded awkwardly up behind his back. It looked uncomfortable, at the least. His blue flannel shirt was dusty and bloodstained, and the side of his head and neck was caked in dried blood, making his hair clump together. Hanzo couldn’t tell if he was concussed or drugged, or possibly a combination of the two; a dangerous possibility.

 

“I suggest you take Caesar up on his offer. Otherwise, this one is going back to a cross with his name on it, right beside Caesar’s personal tent.” Reaper said. “Take this fool, start walking, and don’t look back. None of this has to concern you.”

 

Hanzo still couldn’t tear his eyes away from McCree. Panic was building in his chest. Sombra was studying her fingernails, appearing to be bored. Reaper gave McCree another shake, and he actually _whimpered_ this time.

 

“Okay!” Hanzo nearly shouted. “Okay, I’ll do it!”

 

“That’s—” Reaper was cut off when something hit Sombra with a _thwack_ and the woman instantly collapsed. “What—!”

 

Two more _thwacks_ , rapid fire, but Reaper seemed to become as intangible as a shadow and the darts shattered on the ground with sparks of blue. He dropped McCree and whirled toward the source of the darts, snarling when more hailed down on him. Instead of standing his ground, Reaper grabbed Sombra and they disappeared in a swirl of shadows.

 

Hanzo dove towards McCree and crouched protectively over him, 10mm in hand as he tried to spot the sniper.

 

“Foolish boy!” A woman’s voice snapped out of the darkness and he finally spotted the sniper, marching straight at them with her syringer rifle cradled in her arms. “What were you thinking, coming here alone?”

 

Hanzo was too stunned to react as she knelt down beside him, but his hand snapped out without thought to grab her wrist before she could touch McCree. She pulled her mask off, revealing the features of a kind face, an eyepatch, and long white hair pulled into a side braid. Something in Hanzo wanted to trust her, but he wasn’t sure if he could, and McCree was _hurt_.

 

“I am here to help, child.” She said gently, seeming to sense his fragile state. She didn’t try to free her wrist. “I mean neither of you harm.”

 

“Who…” Hanzo’s voice cracked. She seemed to understand, anyway.

 

“You may call me Amari. Ana Amari. I was once with Overwatch, a long time ago.”

 

Hanzo broke down then, wanting to trust her, needing to see for himself that McCree was here, alive if not well. The dragons agreed vehemently with the latter, and didn’t seem to be suspicious of Amari, so he let go of her arm and backed off a bit, although he clung to McCree, feeling as though this dream would disappear if he lost physical contact.

 

McCree whimpered again as Amari checked his eyes, stirring feebly, and she murmured something in another language as she smoothed a hand through his hair. Hanzo snapped out of his revery and drew his boot knife to carefully slice the ropes that bound the cowboy’s wrists behind his back. McCree’s hand was puffy and purple from lack of blood flow, so Hanzo gently massaged his arm and forearm, trying to coax warmth back to the limb. His prosthetic arm appeared to be intact, but power had somehow been cut to it, leaving it flopping and useless.

 

Hanzo focused on the arm in his hands, the arm and hand that was regaining a more normal colour and a warmth that had been previously absent. McCree’s arm was completely limp, so Hanzo was surprised when he looked up to see McCree watching him through hooded eyes.

 

“H’nz…” McCree managed to slur, but Amari shushed him.

 

“Save your strength, _habibi_.”

 

McCree didn’t protest, his eyes sliding shut again.

 

“We must leave this place.” Amari said quietly to Hanzo. “I have heard rumour that you have a sanctuary in The Lucky 38 casino; if this is true we should go there, now.”

 

Hanzo snapped himself out of his revery, his mind still trying to process the fact that McCree was here; injured, drugged, but _alive_.

 

“Of course.” Hanzo gathered McCree up in his arms and rose, allowed Amari to gently rearrange the cowboy’s position so his head rested on Hanzo’s shoulder, then heading for the gate to the Strip.

 

Fortunately, the Securitrons at the gate seemed uninterested in the guest that trailed Hanzo closely, or care that he was carrying an unconscious man in his arms, and allowed them passage without any hassle. Hanzo made a mental note to thank Yes Man, later, but for now he was still stunned by the fact that he had McCree in his arms.

 

Amari took over McCree’s treatment as soon as they entered the presidential suite, obviously well-versed in field first aid and confident in her knowledge. Feeling out of his depth, Hanzo gratefully followed her lead, following her instructions to the letter. While McCree was battered and bruised, his worst injury was where he had been struck on the side of his head. Amari carefully cleaned the gash there and applied a Stimpack to help accelerate the healing and reduce the swelling, and she assured Hanzo he would be fine once he was rested and healed enough to wake. 

 

Because he was going to wake up. Hanzo nearly broke down at the thought, but managed to hold it together. McCree needed help _now_. Theatrics could come _later_ , he sternly told himself.

 

It wasn’t long until they had McCree bundled in the main suite bed, clean and bandaged, his breathing deep and steady. Hanzo couldn’t pull himself away, but Amari left the room and he heard some clattering in the kitchen.

 

Hanzo put his hand over McCree’s, on top of the blanket, but reluctantly withdrew even that little contact when Amari returned with two steaming mugs. Hanzo automatically took the one offered to him, and Amari settled on the chair beside him to sip her own drink.

 

“McCree spoke of you.” Hanzo said, now that the panic was gone and he could think more clearly. He had heard her name before. “He called you Captain Amari. He said you were dead.”

 

Amari sighed at that. “An unfortunately necessary lie. Talon was coming hard after the officers of Overwatch. I grew too bold, thinking they could not harm me. But then they threatened my child. I knew they would leave her alone if they thought they had succeeded in killing me. I’ve been in hiding ever since.”

 

“He _mourned_ you.” Hanzo was bristling at the thought of someone hurting McCree like that, even if it had been years ago. “You couldn’t have found a way to let him know? And what of your child? You may have protected her, but at what cost?”

 

Amari set her mug aside, but remained quiet for a long moment. He suspected he had angered her, but she collected herself before speaking again. 

 

“You are right, of course.” Amari admitted with an even tone. “I believed I had done what was right at the time, but I came to the same conclusion as you not long ago. I reached out to my daughter. She knows I live. But Talon still exists. They still seek to crush the NCR, to bring the Legion to rule in the Mojave.”

 

“I’m aware.” Hanzo said grudgingly.

 

“I’ve heard of many of your deeds, Hanzo Shimada. Or do you prefer Courier Six, these days? You’ve become very famous in a short amount of time. Imagine my surprise when I realized it was a Shimada going head to head with the Legion.”

 

Hanzo shrugged, his eyes going back to McCree again.

 

“Have you come to rejoin Overwatch?” Hanzo finally asked, changing the subject.

 

“So it’s true.” Amari settled back in her seat. He wasn’t sure when she had leaned forward. “I had heard of Winston’s recall, but I was not sure if it was a trap or if it was genuine.”

 

“It’s true. They are gathering, even now, to join me at Hoover Dam.”

 

“The time has come, then.” Amari sighed, and got to her feet. “I should go to them. I’m sure my stubborn daughter is already there.”

 

“Amari—” Hanzo called before she left, and she turned in the doorway. “Thank you.”

 

“I’ve considered McCree a son for years.” Amari waved a hand dismissively, but hesitated for a moment longer. “When you tell him of me… Tell him that I’m sorry for the pain he’s been through. I know that is not enough, but… Once this is over, I will not be leaving again. Not this time.”

 

When she had left, Hanzo found himself alone with his thoughts, staring at McCree’s sleeping form, wondering if he should still take up the Reaper’s advice and start walking away from the Mojave. As tempting as the thought was, Hanzo eventually came to the reluctant conclusion that he wouldn’t be able to do it with good conscience. He was in this until the end, now. However, he couldn’t stand the thought of his friends or family sacrificing themselves for this cause that he had fully committed himself to.

 

With those thoughts swirling around in his head, it didn’t seem like it was long before Hanzo found himself dozing off at McCree’s bedside. After another heavy nod that had his chin hitting his chest, he checked his Pip-Boy and saw that while the sun wouldn’t be up yet, it was technically morning.

 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked towards the bed and saw McCree sleepily looking back at him.

 

“Had the weirdest dream,” McCree groggily mumbled before Hanzo could say anything. “Saw Gabe, I think. The Cap’n, too. They’re dead though, ain’t they?” Hanzo grabbed McCree’s hand as he began trying to move, looking around in confusion. “Am _I_ dead?”

 

“No!” Hanzo’s voice was rougher than he expected. “No, you’re in The Lucky 38. You’re safe.”

 

“Hmm.” McCree subsided again, heavy-looking eyelids drifting shut. Just when Hanzo thought he had fallen asleep again, he suddenly twitched violently, his arm flailing out as he tried to shove himself up. “Wait, _wait_ , Hanzo, you can’t _be_ here, we gotta—”

 

He stopped with a groan, hand going to his head. Hanzo abandoned his chair to sit on the bed beside McCree, gently pushing him back down and running a hand through his hair before letting his hand rest against the side of his neck where he could feel his pulse thrumming comfortingly. McCree blinked up at him, looking a bit dazed, but he didn’t protest.

 

“You are safe, Jesse, but you were hurt. Stay still.”

 

McCree tried to move his left arm and frowned when it remained a dead weight at his side, and he rubbed his other hand over bleary eyes.

 

“Sorry, darlin’, think I’m a bit muddled.” McCree muttered. “What happened?”

 

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

 

“I remember… Hoover Dam. I thought I saw Gabe.” McCree looked lost. “Did… Something blew up. Hit my head and everything’s kinda hazy after that.”

 

“It was the President’s helicopter. It was rigged with a bomb.”

 

That was enough to alarm McCree into a more wakeful state. “Kimball?”

 

“He didn’t make it. None of them did.”

 

“Shit.” McCree said succinctly, letting his head fall back to the pillow.

 

“I thought you were dead, too.” Hanzo remembered the serape in his pack and pulled it out, setting the neatly folded fabric on the blanket beside McCree’s hand. McCree put a hand on the serape and pulled it up to drape partially over his chest, looking relieved. “I went back, after. All I found was this. I really… I thought you were gone. I didn’t keep looking.”

 

“Hey…” McCree reached out with a fumbling hand to place it on Hanzo’s arm. Hanzo only realized then that his eyes were watering. He blinked furiously, trying to dash away the tears.

 

“I shouldn’t have given up.” The words came out in a rush. “I should have _known_ , I should have kept looking, I’m so sorry—”

 

McCree pulled at his arm to tug him down and wrapped an arm around him in a firm hug. Hanzo couldn’t bring himself to wrap his own arms around McCree, afraid that he would hurt him, but caught handfuls of his serape and held his fists between their chests as McCree held him, murmuring something in a language Hanzo didn’t know, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

 

“When’s the last time you got some sleep?” McCree murmured into his hair. Hanzo’s hesitation seemed to be answer enough, because McCree pulled the blankets back and patted the bed beside him.

 

“I have much to do today,” Hanzo started reluctantly, but sighed when he saw McCree’s disappointment and laid down beside him, cautious of his injuries, but McCree pulled him close so they were cuddled together.

 

Hanzo planned on waiting for McCree to fall asleep before sneaking away, but before he knew it, sleep pulled him under as he lay listening to McCree’s steady breathing.

 

***

 

Hanzo was rudely awakened by an ungodly screech before being pounced upon by someone with unnaturally sharp knees.

 

“Oof, Genji, get off.” McCree groaned, sleepily pushing at the green-haired ninja.

 

“You’re _alive!_ ” Genji jumped on the bed again, violently jarring it once more. Both McCree and Hanzo groaned, neither properly awake yet. “I should’ve known it! Gabe always said you had supernatural luck!”

 

“Don’t think I’d go that far…” McCree held his ribs with a grimace.

 

“Francine called him a cockroach.” Hanzo said from under the pillow he had pulled over his head.

 

“She… what now?”

 

“Ha! Even better.” Genji said gleefully. “And you have perfect timing, showing up the-”

 

Hanzo threw his pillow at Genji before he could finish the sentence and glared at him, hoping he got the message to _not_ finish that sentence. He hadn’t filled McCree in on what was happening the next day, and it was going to stay that way.

 

“Hmm? Perfect timing for what?” McCree looked between them suspiciously.

 

“Nothing.” Hanzo said, leaning over the edge of the bed to grab his boots to put them on. “You should rest, Jesse. I need to speak with my brother, _privately_.”

 

McCree reluctantly conceded, and Hanzo was fairly sure that he was going to be asleep again before the brothers had even left the room. The cowboy’s injuries were clearly still weighing on him; Hanzo made a mental note to retrieve his stash of extra Stimpacks.

 

[What’s that about?] Genji demanded in a stage whisper as soon as they were out of the room. [Have you not told him we are going to the dam tomorrow?]

 

[No, and neither will you.] Hanzo ordered, ushering Genji into the kitchen. He didn’t know if McCree understood or spoke any Japanese, and didn’t want to risk him overhearing them.

 

[Brother, we need all the help we can get tomorrow.] Genji protested. [It would be foolish to leave him out of this.]

 

[I already got him nearly killed once.] Hanzo set about preparing food and tea for breakfast for all of them. [I’ll not do it again. We will be fine.]

 

[You know he’ll be angry once he finds out.]

 

Hanzo didn’t reply, fully aware of that fact.

 

[Do you really think you can keep it from him? It’s all anyone has been talking about, and we’re leaving soon.] Genji pressed.

 

[Genji, leave it.] Hanzo said wearily. [Please.]

 

Genji heaved a sigh and reluctantly nodded. [Have it your way, then.]

 

[Thank you, brother.]

 

[I just hope you know what you’re doing.]

 

***


	12. Wild Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “This is gonna be the last chapter” I told myself when I started writing it
> 
> HA. HA. HA. HA.

***

 

Hanzo didn’t know what he was doing. 

 

He was nearly to the dam with his Securitron escort that was acting as Yes Man’s eyes and ears, working their way through the NCR camp that had sprung up since the last time he’d been here. He could also see Legion banners amongst tents on the other side of the Dam; another unwelcome sight. Dust hung in the air as troops from both sides moved about, and the din of thousands of voices and weapons firing echoing off the stone cliffs was near deafening.

 

“Hanzo!” Genji shouted over the noise, waving him over to where Overwatch anxiously waited, an odd mixture of humans and super mutants. Hanzo recognized most of them, but there were several new faces. “The NCR have already engaged the Legion!”

 

Hanzo cursed under his breath as he strode up to where they were overlooking the sounds of battle. Hoover Dam was already swarming with troops from both sides, lasers and bullets flying while fires flickered from where they had emerged from flamethrowers.

 

“Where is your army you said you were bringing?” Genji looked behind him as if it would be hiding there.

 

“I need to get to the control room to summon them.” Hanzo said tersely, looking out towards the middle of the dam where the building sat. “I had been hoping to arrive before the fighting started to do so.”

 

“So… your army is in there?” Winston asked dubiously.

 

“Where is Jesse?” Amari demanded, sniper rifle ready in her arms.

 

“At The Lucky 38.” Hanzo tore his gaze from the dam to look at her. “Safe.”

 

Her eye narrowed as she looked at him. “He remained behind willingly?”

 

Hanzo looked away again, gritting his teeth before answering. “I didn’t tell him anything.”

 

Genji slapped a hand over his eyes. “Hanzo…”

 

“You’re a bigger fool than he is.” Amari shook her head.

 

“He’s safe. Yes Man has Securitrons guarding him. When everything is done, Yes Man will fill him in.”

 

The range of expressions he received from the ones that knew McCree from his Blackwatch days was an odd mixture that he couldn’t quite identify, but the most prominent seemed to be pity.

 

“The control override chip—” The Securitron beside Hanzo interrupted.

 

“I’m aware, thank you.” Hanzo practically leapt at the chance to get away from the situation. “As I said earlier, I need to get to that control room.”

 

“We’ll go with you.” Genji immediately said.

 

“Right.” Winston turned and immediately began giving orders, creating a frontal assault and flank guards for Hanzo.

 

“Genji.” Hanzo almost reached out to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder but hesitated, unsure if the touch would be welcome. Genji stepped away from the group gathered around Winston, putting a few steps between them and the others.

 

[Yes? What is it?]

 

Hanzo hesitated again, before settling on, [Be careful.]

 

[Hanzo,] Genji started, sounding worried, but Hanzo stepped back and activated his Stealth Boy. [Hanzo, wait!]

 

It was too late to turn back now, Hanzo knew as he stole out into the midst of the fighting. Genji had the rest of Overwatch at his back. As long as Hanzo didn’t drag them into further danger and activated the Securitron army on his own, they had a chance.

 

He would not risk any more lives for this.

 

Hoover Dam was crawling with NCR and Legion alike, and as Hanzo crept past the large siege gun by the Visitor’s Center it suddenly blew up, nearly throwing him to the ground with a deafening shockwave. The Securitron that was trailing him beeped in alarm but pushed forward, an intimidating hulk of a figure in the smoke. The NCR troops huddled behind their cover watched wide eyed as the robot rolled by, but left it alone as they figured out it only fired with abandon on any Legion that dared to emerge into the open.

 

Hanzo stealthily crept in its wake, taking shots from hiding when he could and pausing to help take out larger groups that had managed to make it further onto the dam. It was slow, hard going, but they eventually made it to the control room.

 

“Wait here.” Hanzo hissed to the Securitron. “Try not to get killed.”

 

“Sir, yes sir.” The Securitron rolled off to find cover, and Hanzo let himself into the building.

 

Thanks to the thick concrete walls and heavy steel doors, the sudden silence inside was startling. He could hear a few voices murmuring down one of the halls, but no fighting had pushed into the building yet.

 

_Good._

 

Sticking to the walls and leaving his Stealthboy on, Hanzo slunk in further, bypassing patrolling NCR troops with none the wiser. The NCR obviously knew the importance of the building, and while he was still on better than neutral terms with them, he didn’t want to waste time explaining what he was doing here.

 

Finally, he reached the main control room with the monitors and computer banks that matched Yes Man’s descriptions, guarded by two heavily armed men in power armour. Fortunately, it wasn’t difficult to sneak by them as well and Hanzo loaded the override chip into the waiting port.

 

“Hi! Nice to see you again!” Yes Man said cheerfully, and Hanzo hissed in annoyance and motioned for him to be quiet. “Oh right, we should be quiet!” Yes Man started ‘whispering’ without actually lowering his volume levels. Fortunately, none of the guards seemed to notice. “Sooo…. We can still blow up the dam’s generators, or go with the plan we talked about and rout the entire output to the Fort to activate a certain army of Securitrons and set them loose to ravage the Legion! What do you say?”

 

“Send it to the Fort like we talked about.” Hanzo ordered, pitching his voice low. “It’s our best chance.”

 

“Yes! This is going to be fun! I’m unlocking the East Power Plant. Hit the manual switch, then go topside and deal with the Legion and NCR while I bring up our friends!”

 

The manual switch was located down another hall and through a door that opened onto a balcony that overlooked the massive room that held the dam’s huge turbines. Considering that they had sat here through a nuclear war hundreds of years ago and had been mostly working since then, Hanzo was impressed that they worked at all, providing enough hydropower to keep New Vegas the bright spot in the Mojave.

 

With these thoughts swirling in his head, Hanzo only absently acknowledged the time-up warning from his Stealthboy. It was of no consequence; he had two more Stealthboys and the giant hangar-like space was empty.

 

The cloaking dropped as he reached to pull the handle of the manual switch, but before he could complete the action something kicked him, _hard_ , in the lower back. He fell against the panel and his surprised gasp awakened a shock of pain in his side, just as his ears registered the sound of a rifle shot.

 

Hanzo threw himself to the floor behind the solid concrete balcony railing, cursing himself for being so careless, and another shot pinged off the panel behind him. _Sniper._ He should have guessed that Legion or Talon or whoever it was would have someone covering such an important area.

 

A mocking laugh drifted into the empty space and he heard a feminine voice speak in a gloating tone, “À la vie, à la mort.”

 

Hanzo pressed a hand to his side and felt the unmistakable heat and wetness of his blood spilling, staining the vault suit he still wore beneath his light leather armour with a dark, glistening circle.

 

He looked back up at the red handled switch, adrenaline beginning to course in his veins, working against him, pumping his blood from the wound even faster in its misguided attempt to keep him alive. He dragged himself back towards the wall where the panel was, and winced at the scrape of his boot on the concrete.

 

“Oh?” The sniper’s voice purred, echoing in the space. It was impossible to tell where exactly she was. “You still live? But so eager to meet your death.”

 

Hanzo ignored her, looking up at the switch, so close, but impossible to reach without putting himself back into the line of fire. Yet if he did not do so, he would be leaving New Vegas, the Mojave, his brother, McCree, _everyone_ to the Legion’s mercy.

 

He pulled Storm Bow from his shoulder and tested the draw, grimacing when the effort sent another stab of pain through his side and another gush of wet warmth, spreading the stain further. Hanzo looked back up at the panel, at the switch that could save New Vegas and the Mojave, and thought of everyone he had come to care about since starting out from Goodsprings, what felt like a lifetime ago.

 

Before he could overthink it, Hanzo lunged at the switch, shoving it upwards as another gun shot rang out.

 

***

 

When Hanzo opened his eyes, he found himself laying on his back, looking up at a switch on a panel that was partially thrown, the handle not quite at a right angle with the panel. It took a long moment before he recognized his failure, and despair nearly choked him.

 

All his focus narrowed in on the switch, and he attempted to move his leaden limbs to push himself up, to reach for the switch. His left hand scrabbled at the concrete beneath it, and his shoulders nearly left the ground as his back arched, but a sharp stab of pain caused a sharp inhale that turned into a fit of coughing, flooding his mouth with the taste of copper.

 

He was dying, he realized. It was unfortunate that he had awoken before it happened; he had nearly died thinking he had saved everyone he cared about. Now, the last thing he would see would be the last of his failures, knowing he had doomed an entire nation to slavery.

 

Several more shots rang out, and he heard the sniper spit out a _merde_ before there was the distant sound of a grapple gun being used. Someone suddenly knelt beside Hanzo and pawed at his throat, but his senses were too deadened to even flinch in surprise.

 

“Foolish boy.” Ana Amari spat out for the second time since Hanzo had met her, her voice sounding like it was coming from the end of a very long tunnel. “When will you learn?”

 

Everything was rapidly going dim, but Hanzo felt his lips twitch. _Too late to learn any more,_ he wanted to say to her, but there was no air left. He was completely numb now. 

 

Amari was still speaking, but he couldn’t make out the words anymore. Hanzo felt himself sinking, sinking, and everything went black.

 

***

 

Waking was a jarring, awful experience. His chest _ached_ , as if a heavy weight had been sitting on him and had only recently been lifted. Someone prodded at his side and he nearly screamed at the lightning bolt of agony that produced, his oxygen starved lungs converting the scream into a broken whimper instead. Firm but gentle hands were on his face, holding his head still, and while he could vaguely feel more hands holding his arms and even his legs he couldn’t focus enough to make out the faces above him. Another stab of agony made his back arch, his mouth dropping open in a silent scream, and the hands — one warm, the other a cool press of metal — on his face tightened a bit. _It’s okay, just relax baby, you’re okay,_ someone was murmuring in his ear, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on his cheekbones as everything went mercifully black again.

 

***

 

The next time he awoke he became aware of his senses much more slowly. He was warm, wrapped in something soft that smelled comfortingly familiar. It took a long moment for him to recognize the firm support around him as arms, and the gentle movement under his cheek was someone breathing. Hanzo managed to pry his eyes open next, and recognized the red material he was wrapped in as McCree’s serape. Lifting his gaze, he found himself looking up at McCree, who was looking straight ahead with a thousand yard stare while he held Hanzo cradled to his chest.

 

Hanzo flexed his hand, trying to get blood flowing to the numb limb again, and that slight movement caused McCree to tighten his grip a bit without otherwise stirring.

 

“You’re alright,” McCree said as if automatically, his gaze still unwavering into nothing. Hanzo had the impression that it wasn’t the first time he had uttered those words, sitting here with a grown man bundled like a child in his lap. “You’re alright.”

 

From this angle, Hanzo wasn’t sure if McCree believed what he was saying. He looked a little lost, and a lot scared.

 

That wouldn’t do. Hanzo wanted to reach out, smooth that worried frown from his brow, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 

He was currently _extremely_ comfortable however, sans static-nerved limbs. McCree’s serape held him as securely captive as any formal restraint.

 

“If you say so.” Hanzo muttered sleepily instead of moving. _That,_ however, was enough to send a jolt through McCree, and he looked down at Hanzo with wide eyes, who could only groggily stare back.

 

McCree somehow gathered him up into an even tighter hug, flesh hand cradling the back of Hanzo’s skull as he just held him for a moment. Hanzo managed to free an arm and looped it around McCree’s neck, the feeble half hug taking an alarming amount of his strength.

 

“You called me a baby.” Hanzo said, the memory coming back with fuzzy recollection.

 

“I called you _baby_ , not _a_ baby.” McCree said, flustered. “I was _worried._ ”

 

Hanzo hummed and patted the part of McCree’s shoulder that he could reach. For some reason, he knew it was odd that McCree was there, but considering they always traveled everywhere together he couldn’t quite remember why that would be.

 

“What are you doing here?” Hanzo asked, still trying to sort out his muddled thoughts.

 

“Chasing your fool ass across the desert to give you a piece of my mind for trying to do this on your own.” McCree admitted, not meeting his eyes. “But when I got here you’d already gone and done what I was scared would happen.”

 

Hanzo frowned at that. Something was teasing at the edges of his mind; he had forgotten something. But what?

 

“Don’t do that to me again,” McCree said, voice cracking. “I was so ready to be mad at you, and I still kinda am, but… don’t do that again.”

 

Once he could remember what it was he had done, he’d apologize properly, Hanzo decided.

 

“Amari was here.” Hanzo remembered that part.

 

“Damn well everyone was here at one point.” McCree snorted. “Genji said to tell you he didn’t trust me with the ass-kicking you so clearly deserve and that he’d be handling it next he sees you.”

 

Hanzo scoffed at that. Typical little brother bluster.

 

“Ange is the one that patched you up.” McCree said, more slowly. “She had to use her Caduceus technology. If she hadn’t…” 

 

McCree stopped, the thousand yard stare making a momentary return. 

 

“Where are they?” Hanzo wondered aloud. They were clearly alone here.

 

“They went back up, to help the NCR. It wasn’t looking very good. I should be helping them, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t leave you alone here.”

 

Hanzo’s gaze drifted across the floor, and stopped on a large, smeared puddle of blood in the process of drying on the floor, only a few feet away. 

 

Everything snapped back suddenly, making him flinch with shock. They were on the balcony overlooking the turbines of Hoover Dam. The NCR and Legion were battling for control of the dam above them. The manual switch still sat at an odd angle, not in the position it was meant to be, which meant Yes Man was still waiting to release his army.

 

Hanzo tried to lunge to his feet, but McCree still held him and his limbs were weaker than he was anticipating.

 

“The switch,” Hanzo gasped, urgency flooding him. “Throw that switch—!”

 

“Alright, settle down, I got it.” McCree propped him against the wall before going to the switch and throwing it the rest of the way.

 

It took a breathless moment, but large generators started in the distance, and a series of loud _kachunk kachunk kachunk_ sounds thundered down the bay as lights came on and the turbines groaned to life, blades that had sat dormant for too long beginning to turn as water flowed through the system. Within minutes, the large space had settled into the low rumble of a fully functioning hydropower plant.

 

McCree came to sit down by Hanzo again, looking unsettled.

 

“What did I just do?”

 

“Sent a large amount of power to the Securitron army beneath the Fort.”

 

McCree’s expression cleared. “Ah. That’s alright, then.”

 

Hanzo disentangled his arm from the serape and took stock of himself.

 

“What are you doing?” McCree asked with some alarm. “You nearly _died_ not that long ago, you shouldn’t be moving yet.”

 

Hanzo had to admit he _looked_ like he had nearly died. His vault suit was a wreck, stained with blood and the top folded down to apparently allow access to his injuries, leaving him naked from the waist up. There were two different spots of pink, shiny flesh; one in his side below his ribs and the other high enough that it explained his relatively rapid loss of consciousness. Lung shot. He was lucky to be alive.

 

“We aren’t done yet.” Hanzo said, pulling his vault suit back up and trying to hide his grimace at the movement. The left sleeve of the vault suit was a complete loss thanks to ripped fabric, but he pulled the rest of the suit up and set about getting to his feet. McCree huffed but helped him up, and held him steady when he wobbled a bit.

 

“You got a little, uh. Here.” McCree handed him his canteen, which Hanzo gratefully took to rinse the coppery taste from his mouth. The first mouthful he spat out, an alarmingly bloody mess, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped and he drank the rest. McCree stepped into his space to gently wipe something from the corner of his mouth, a small smirk on his lips but sadness in his eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hanzo started, “I didn’t want you to—”

 

“Just,” McCree interrupted him with a grimace, “just stop. I know why you did it. I woulda done the same if it were the other way around. Don’t mean I’m happy about it, and we _will_ have words about it, but not now. Not… now.”

 

Hanzo hesitated, but he thought he understood. They had no idea what was coming next. Yes Man’s army of Securitrons may have been released, but Caesar and Talon were still out there. This wasn’t over.

 

“You don’t have to do this.” McCree said, voice husky. “You’ve done enough. You can walk away, now.”

 

Hanzo placed his hand over the one that McCree held to his cheek, turned his head to kiss his palm.

 

“You know I can’t do that.”

 

“Yeah,” McCree sighed, “I know. Figured it was worth a try.”

 

“Will you come with me?”

 

“Right behind ya, darlin’.”

 

***


	13. No Gods, No Masters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well look who's here... weeks late with the update... my bad brah.
> 
> Welcome to the finale of Something Lonesome About You, which turned out much longer than I intended but has no good place to break into two chapters. Thanks for reading and your comments/kudos, love y'all <3

***

 

Getting out of the control room of the Dam proved to be more difficult than when Hanzo had snuck in, as Legion troops had forced their way inside and were challenging the NCR units inside. But with McCree at his side, Hanzo swept through the halls, and it didn’t take them long to push the Legion back out. The NCR troops seemed baffled by Hanzo and McCree’s appearance, but they didn’t pause to explain themselves before they all but charged back out onto the Dam.

 

If Hanzo had thought the activity had been overwhelming before he entered the control room, it was all-out chaos now. The fires were raging even higher while troops from both sides were all but throwing themselves at each other. A large group of Securitrons were already on the Dam, firing rockets that arched over sandbag covers and blew Legion troops into direct lines of fire. Hanzo even caught glimpses of a few members of Overwatch, including something that looked like a massive and strange set of power armour painted violently pink. He looked for Genji, but there was no sign of his brother anywhere nearby.

 

“We should get to the Legion camp.” McCree said grimly, looking out at the battle. “If Caesar runs, this will all just start again sooner or later.”

 

“Agreed.” Hanzo tested the draw of Storm Bow again and grimaced at the twinge in his shoulder before swapping the bow out for his much-prized anti-materiel rifle. He didn’t have much ammo for it, but hopefully by the time it was out the Stimpack he had just taken would have done enough to allow him unrestricted movement. “Ready?”

 

McCree just responded by grinning at him before striding out into the chaos, taking shots and throwing grenades, rolling to dodge bullets instead of taking cover, generally drawing attention to himself while Hanzo quickly and efficiently sniped from the cover of a Stealth Boy. By the time they stepped off the Dam onto the haphazard wood and tin path to the gate that lead to the Legion camp, Hanzo felt like he had been fighting for hours. Lungs burning from the smoke in the air, muscles quivering with exertion, Hanzo paused at the gate to divide the last of his water with McCree, who unfairly seemed less affected then Hanzo.

 

“You doing alright?” McCree asked worriedly, tilting Hanzo’s chin up to wipe a calloused thumb gently at the corner of his mouth.

 

“I’m fine.” Hanzo waved him off, wiping his own mouth with his remaining sleeve. He had taken a tumble while dodging a rocket gone askew, and hadn’t realized until now that his lip had split open. 

 

“As much as I don’t mind the left-tit-out look, it doesn’t seem like quite enough protection in a fight like this, darlin’.” McCree traced the ragged edge of Hanzo’s vault suit that left his entire left shoulder, pec, and arm exposed. Hanzo half-heartedly swatted at his hand with a roll of his eyes.

 

“My family’s idea of stealth suits were even less protection than this.” Hanzo loftily informed him. McCree let out a low whistle.

 

“Whew, think I’d pay to see that.”

 

Hanzo gave him another swat before turning his attention back to the gate before them. “We should hurry.”

 

McCree cracked another grin at him and led the way.

 

The camp on the other side of the gate was alarming similar to The Fort encampment, with (thankfully empty) crucifix set up around the perimeter. Hanzo felt a shudder run through him as he remembered Reaper’s threat of a cross with McCree’s name on it, but quickly shoved those thoughts aside in favour of focusing on the battle. A few Securitrons had made it into the camp, and the fighting was already on.

 

Hanzo was down on one knee, sniping a few Legion across the camp, when McCree shouted his name and pointed towards a path that lead up the side of the rocky desert mountain.

 

Several Legion troops were fleeing, running up the path, while three intimidating figures descended towards them.

 

Leaving the Securitrons to clean up the last of the common Legion soldiers, Hanzo grimly went to meet them.

 

“I told you to take him and start walking, Shimada.” The Reaper sounded annoyed. “That’s all you had to do.”

 

“And if you remembered anything about me at all, you’d know I wouldn’t fall in with the cowardly type, Gabe.” McCree retorted as he stepped up beside Hanzo. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

“I could ask you the same, ingrate.” Reaper growled.

 

“Why are we arguing with them?” Sombra complained from beside Reaper. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

“For once, I agree with her.” The tall, strangely purple-skinned woman on Reaper’s other side said with a sniff, her head held high. Hanzo realized with a start at the sound of her hauntingly familiar voice that this had been the sniper that ambushed him in the turbine hangar. She eyed him, but didn’t appear to hold a personal grudge against him.

 

Reaper clenched his fists before relaxing them again, but before anyone could make another move, someone shouted an angry _hey_ from behind Hanzo and McCree.

 

“Oh, I fuckin’ _knew_ it.” Hanzo heard McCree mutter under his breath as he turned to see who was approaching. Hanzo didn’t take his eyes off the trio in front of him, and Ranger 76 stepped up beside them. McCree shook his head at the Ranger in annoyance.

 

“First Gabe, then the cap’n, and now _you?_ ” McCree’s angry voice was a whip crack in the air. “Who else has been playing dead? Anyone else we should be expecting?”

 

The Reaper straightened a bit when Captain Amari silently stepped up beside Hanzo, but it was difficult to tell what his expression would be had he been unmasked.

 

“Enough, Reyes.” Ranger 76 - apparently Jack Morrison, Hanzo deduced by McCree’s reaction - told the Reaper, ignoring McCree’s biting remarks. “This has gone on long enough.”

 

“You think you get to decide that?” Reaper snapped. “In case you forgot, those days are over.”

 

“Gabriel, you don’t need to keep doing this.” Amari’s tone was more mild, but Hanzo still heard the steel in her voice. “This can end today.”

 

Reaper appeared to shiver, blurring at the edges. It happened so quickly, Hanzo wondered if he had imagined it.

 

“You trust this kid that much?” The Reaper jerked his head at Hanzo. “Last I saw of him, he hung around with _us_ and was _very_ good at taking orders without question.”

 

Hanzo felt himself pale at that, and his mouth dropped open, wanting to deny it. 

 

But he couldn’t. He had followed every order his father and clan elders had passed on to him, including killing his own brother. It was only then that he had fled.

 

All three Talon agents were eyeing him with some interest, waiting for his response. His cheeks heated with shame, and he had to look away, his grip tightening with the creak of leather on his rifle.

 

“Yes.” Amari said quietly. “He takes foolish risks with his own health but every decision he’s made in regards to New Vegas and the Mojave has been only with the civilians in mind. I trust him. I trust _them_ , even if their future doesn’t match the one we dreamed of.” She gestured to Hanzo and McCree as she finished.

 

“What she said.” Morrison said before hesitating, then taking his mask off to reveal the pale-blue eyed and raggedly blonde visage of a ghoul. Hanzo was surprised, mostly in wonder how he had made it so far in the ranks of the NCR - a military group that abhorred any non-human and didn’t allow any ‘unusuals’ within their ranks. “You should be proud of your kid. He picked a good one.”

 

Hanzo shot a look towards McCree. The cowboy was still looking at the Reaper, jaw set, but there was something else in his eyes.

 

All was still for a long moment, and Hanzo realized he was holding his breath.

 

Reaper sighed, and jerked his head at Sombra.

 

“It’s time, kid. Get lost. Take Widowmaker with you, and send a message to Doomfist.”

 

A flicker of annoyance passed over Sombra’s face, but it appeared to be mostly directed at the group in front of her.

 

“Fine. I didn’t sign up for this, anyway.” Sombra held a hand out to the sniper. “Coming, _cariña?_ ”

 

Widowmaker appeared taken aback by what was happening, looking at the Reaper with a look of shock, but she recovered quickly.

 

“ _Oui._ ” Widowmaker sniffed, placing her hand in Sombra’s, and the pair disappeared in a flicker of purple.

 

“What is the meaning of this?!” A shrill voice came from further up the path. “It is Caesar’s will-!”

 

McCree had drawn and fired Peacekeeper within the space of a blink, and Vulpes Inculta fell, dead, a bullet between his eyes. Hanzo spun to face the cowboy, but he only shrugged and reholstered his pistol.

 

“I should have done that back in New Vegas.” McCree said somewhat defiantly, and Hanzo conceded with a tilt of his head and a quirk of his lips. McCree’s expression turned smug, but he was distracted when Reaper sighed again and reached up to pull off his own mask. McCree made a small noise as everyone realized Gabriel Reyes was now a ghoul as well, and Hanzo took McCree’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly without thought as Reyes stepped closer.

 

“What, you’ll shoot a man without warning but can’t handle the sight of another ghoul?” Reyes said mockingly, but Hanzo sensed an edge of uncertainty in his voice as well.

 

“Cut the bullshit. Vulpes had it coming, and he knew it.” McCree tried to snap, but his voice wavered. “I thought you were dead. I thought you were _all_ dead! I would have given _anything_ to have even one of you back, ghoul or super mutant or what _ever!_ ”

 

To Hanzo’s everlasting amazement, Reyes opened his arms and grabbed McCree in a hug, which McCree returned tenfold. Morrison and Amari simply looked on, varying degrees of remorse in their expressions.

 

By the time McCree stepped back, he was wiping at his watering eyes with a half-hearted curse.

 

“I’m still mad at all of you.” McCree informed the trio of former Overwatch agents that were recently back from the dead. “ _All_ of you.”

 

Amari and Morrison managed to look contrite, but Reyes just ruffled McCree’s hair fondly.

 

“C’mon, _mijo_. We’ll have to hurry. The Legate will know we’re coming, by now.”

 

“Lanius?” Hanzo asked with some dread, and paused in surprise. He _remembered_ Legate Lanius, from his family’s dealings with the Legion. Now that he thought about it, he had many memories that he was sure he hadn’t had yesterday, and mentally rifling through them didn’t reveal any abnormal missing gaps that he had become accustomed to since waking in Goodsprings. He looked at McCree in astonishment, then over his shoulder, looking for Dr Ziegler and her miraculous technology.

 

The rest of Overwatch was making their way into the camp, cautiously approaching while watching their backs, and while there were larger and more eye-catching people in the group, Hanzo’s eyes immediately fell on Genji.

 

Hanzo thought he already had all the memories from that awful night, the night he had been ordered to deal with his brother, but he realized now that there had been more blocked from his memory. Looking at Genji, now, brought it all back, and Hanzo didn’t realize he had fallen until McCree grabbed him and held him more or less upright on his knees.

 

“Hanzo! Talk to me darlin’, what’s happening?” McCree’s urgent tone snapped Hanzo out of his revery, and Hanzo lifted a hand to touch the scars on his forehead.

 

“I’m alright.” Hanzo said, mostly truthfully. “I… It’s passed, I think.”

 

“Ani, are you alright?” Genji had reached them in record time and helped McCree get Hanzo back on his feet. Reyes had a wry look on his face.

 

“You’re sure about this?” Reyes asked Morrison sarcastically.

 

“I’m fine.” Hanzo snapped, more harshly than he intended. “Let’s go.”

 

They didn’t make it much further up the path before Legate Lanius confronted them, standing huge and imposing and in their way.

 

“Reaper. I always knew you did not have Caesar’s best interests in mind.” Lanius sneered. “How pleased he’ll be when I bring him your corpse.”

 

“Can it, Lanuis.” Reyes threw back. “I don’t-”

 

“Enough!” Hanzo raised his voice, cutting him off. “Your argument is with me, Lanius.”

 

Both Lanius and Reyes glowered at him, but Reyes backed down.

 

“A Shimada, acting as an envoy of Vegas?” Lanius scoffed. “No wonder your tribe cast you out.”

 

“Cast out! Is that what they told you?” Hanzo said coldly. “I killed most of the elders myself before I left.”

 

“Ha! It’s your word against theirs. But it’s of no matter; we stopped our dealings with the Shimada tribe months ago.”

 

“Probably the only good thing to come of this.” Genji muttered behind Hanzo.

 

“If you or Caesar think you’ve got any chance of taking Hoover Dam, you’d be wrong.” Hanzo informed Lanius.

 

“Many graves in the East are filled with those who said as much, with braver words, not backed by strength.” Lanius said dismissively. “It is Caesar’s will that this gate to the West bear the flag of the Legion. Caesar’s will shall be done.”

 

“The Legion’s advance ends here.” Hanzo didn’t back down.

 

“The West shall fall as the East Fell, and all the tribes that stretch to the setting sun shall bear the mark of the Legion. It is Caesar’s will.” Lanius folded his arms stubbornly.

 

“He’s stalling.” Reyes suddenly said.

 

“And you’re a fool.” Lanius said with a start, but Hanzo realized immediately that Reyes was right.

 

“I bet Caesar is already halfway to Vault City.” Reaper growled, and started to fall apart, whirling through the air like ash in the wind.

 

“Reyes, wait!” Morrison shouted, but Reyes was already gone, shooting up and over the cliffs, and before Hanzo could properly react Morrison was off like a shot after him.

 

Lanius attacked suddenly and viciously while McCree was yelling after Reyes and Morrison, the Legate launching himself at Hanzo with his giant sword and no warning. Hanzo managed to bring his anti-materiel rifle up in time to meet and stop the sword, but the impact was violent enough that it threw him off his feet and he tumbled down the path. He barely had enough time to get back to his feet and see that his rifle was badly damaged before Lanius was back on him again, forcing him to duck under another powerful swing. Storm Bow seemed to leap into his hand when he reached from where it was slung across his back, and he fired three arrows in rapid succession at Lanius, two of them pinging off the heavily armoured man harmlessly but one sank into the joint seam at his knee. Lanius roared in pain and anger before charging him again, somehow barely hobbled by the injury.

 

More Legion had come charging back down the hill when Lanius had attacked Hanzo, and he could see out of the corner of his eye that McCree and the rest of Overwatch also had their hands full. The Securitrons were doing their part as well, their huge forms dwarfing most of the other figures on the field. Someone in a blue set of power armour was using thrusters to fly over the scene, raining rockets down from above and causing chaos in general, and Hanzo caught a glimpse of Genji’s green dragon before he was once again dodging another swing from Lanius. 

 

This time, Lanius had caught on to Hanzo’s dodge tactics and managed to turn the blade to slice across his upper arm. Springing back with a hissed out curse, Hanzo rapidly fired more arrows - also taking out a Praetor that was also trying to join the fight - while ignoring the burning sting of his wound. Despite the fact that two more arrows had managed to get through his armour, Lanius didn’t give him a chance to take a breath and pushed him back even further.

 

Exhausted, hurting, muscles trembling; Hanzo wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on. He leapt backwards out of range of the sword and stumbled, nearly losing Storm Bow as he fell on the dusty ground. Before he could get up, McCree’s hat tumbled by him, blown by the wind.

 

Hanzo saw red.

 

“ _Ryuuga wagateki wo kurau!_ ”

 

The words burst from him before he had really decided what he was going to do, spinning around and releasing the dragons once more. They tore across the field and into Lanius, sending the giant Legate flying backwards with a scream. Hanzo didn’t stop there, firing more arrows at any Legion within his range, freeing up Overwatch members to turn to cleaning up. By the time he was done, any Legion soldiers capable of running were doing so.

 

Lanius was stirring on the ground when Hanzo strode up to him. He could still feel the dragons within, thrashing and restless, ready to be released once more.

 

“Do you yield?” Hanzo drew Storm Bow and aimed between Lanius’ eyes. It was impossible to see his expression through the ornate armour he wore, but Hanzo could make out the whites of Lanius’ eyes.

 

“I serve Caesar, of course I will never yield.” Lanius spat, and collapsed backwards with an arrow protruding from one of the eye holes of his armour.

 

Hanzo turned away from the body and closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, trying to calm the seething rage within him.

 

“Hanzo!” Running footsteps came from behind him, and relief flooded him as opened his eyes and turned. McCree caught his arms and held him, looking him over with worried eyes. “Are you hurt? You’re bleeding!”

 

“I’m fine, it’s just a scratch.” Hanzo reached up to wipe away a bloody tear from McCree’s face; evidence that he had used Deadeye at least twice if not more. “What about you? Were you injured?”

 

Instead of answering, McCree pulled him in for a searing kiss. Hanzo let out a small, startled gasp, but quickly recovered and returned it with equal fervor.

 

They were rudely interrupted by a shrill wolf whistle, and broke apart to see Tracer laughing at Genji, who was pretending to gag.

 

“Come!” Amari was already marching up the path towards Caesar’s large tent. “This is not over yet!”

 

Knowing she was right, Hanzo quickly started after her, followed closely by McCree and the rest of the group.

 

Bursting into the tent was anti-climatic, as no one was waiting in ambush. Proceeding into the tent’s throne room revealed more of the same. There was no one there.

 

“Gabriel was right.” Amari sighed, saying the words that Hanzo dreaded to confirm. “Caesar has already fled.”

 

“With his tail tucked between his legs.” McCree sneered. “I doubt the rest of the Legion will take him back with open arms.”

 

“Not to mention Jack and Gabriel on his heels.” A large giant of a man - Reinhardt, Hanzo guessed from McCree’s descriptions - boomed. “He likely won’t even make it to the next Legion encampment.”

 

“You are probably right. Still, I must follow them.” Amari said. “It would be better for everyone if this were to be finished, today.”

 

“I will go with you.” Hanzo said, but she stopped him with a shake of her head.

 

“General Oliver will be coming to the Dam to take it over for the NCR. You need to be here for that.”

 

It pained him to let Caesar go, but Hanzo knew she was right. He wasn’t done at Hoover Dam yet.

 

“I will go with you, Ana.” Reinhardt slammed the haft of his hammer into his hand. “We will catch up to them if we go now, quickly!”

 

A few of the Overwatch group decided to go with them, agreeing to keep Jacobstown as their base to meet up again once their task was complete. Hanzo and McCree managed to slink out while everything was being decided, making their way back through the camp towards the Dam, collecting Securiton bots as they went.

 

“One down, one to go.” McCree said grimly. “You gonna hand it over to NCR, now that the Legion is gone?”

 

Before Hanzo could reply, the front gate into the encampment blew up with a blinding fireball, causing them both to stumble back. NCR Rangers, all armoured and carrying powerful weapons, burst through and stood with weapons ready while General Oliver strode through their midst to scan the camp and address Hanzo.

 

“Been a long time since I’ve seen the kind of work you’ve laid down today… a damn long time.” General Oliver said gruffly, but with some admiration in his tone. “And the screams of those Legion bastards as they kicked dirt running East… like a choir of angels to my ears. Speaking of - that crazy lightshow with the dragons, what the fuck was that, some kind of act of God you called down? Amazing, fucking amazing. I could use a hundred of you, just scatter you over the East like jacks, give those plumed fucks the what-for.”

 

“Hold that thought, General.” Hanzo stopped the barrage of words by holding up his hand. “I have some friends I’d like to introduce you to.”

 

The Securitrons rolled up behind Hanzo, and more emerged from the dust that was still billowing behind the General and Rangers.

 

“Oh, uh… well. These uh… these boys with you? Hello, there, smiley.” General Oliver stuttered as he addressed Yes Man, who had taken over the Securitron unit next to Hanzo. “Guess it ain’t no secret how you uh...I say, can you ask them to put their weapons down? Was just reaching in my coat to give you a cigar.”

 

“General Oliver, Hoover Dam is ours. Leave at once.” Hanzo used every lesson he had been taught while he was trained to become leader of his tribe and kept his head high, voice cool.

 

“I would sooner spit on the grave of my dead mother than let some courier-walk-the-wasteland-fuck talk to me like that.” General Oliver’s voice took on a notedly colder tone. “Who the hell do you think you are? Looking to cash your chips to the sound of NCR bullets, eh? I can oblige.”

 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Hanzo gestured towards the Securitrons that surrounded them.

 

“Look, I know you’re riding high right now, but let me tell you - you ain’t pissing on me right now, you’re pissing on the _Bear_. You been far enough West I’m guessing to know how far that claw stretches. Fuck with the Bear, and-”

 

“I could say the same, General.” Hanzo interrupted him, tired of his bluster. “Fuck with New Vegas, and get you and your entire battalion rained on with a rocket barrage from these Securitrons.”

 

“You want me to make tracks out of here, head back West, tail between our legs?” General Oliver sputtered. “No, I came for a fight with Legion today, and if you’re looking to make me budge, you better have a damn good left hook or I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Every Securitron armed their rocket launchers, a series of beeps and whistles emitting from all of them as the weapon barrels trained on every NCR troop.

 

“Because you’re talking and not attacking?”

 

General Oliver wilted, finally getting the idea that Hanzo was not backing down, and considering that McCree was standing right beside him with fire in his eyes he wasn’t getting any quarter there either.

 

“Alright. I wasn’t expecting a fight with you when I came up here. And now that we’re talking, I don’t like the sound of things.” General Oliver admitted. “Do you know what you’re doing? Making a nation - like you think you’re doing - ain’t like chowing down on a pile of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes. Think you got the guts to carve out a frontier? Build towns, protect the roads, run supplies, train troops?”

 

“I can guarantee he’s put more thought into the state of the Mojave than you or anyone in the NCR.” McCree spat. “He ain’t going to do a worse job than the Republic, that’s for sure.”

 

General Oliver took his cap off with a heavy sigh. “Hell. Can’t believe we got suckered by some road jockey. Should’ve watched the flank while Caesar’s best was making all that noise. Look, I know what those robots of yours can do on a bad day, and I’m not eager to toss lives at them just to make a point. But if you’re taking this place, you better hope you can hold it. I’ll give my superiors my opinion, but I don’t think they’re going to listen. So if NCR comes at you, and it will, pray you’re ready. I promise you, our situations reversed, I’d see you hang.”

 

“Is that all? Because we have work to do, and NCR words don’t mean much around here.” Hanzo didn’t break his cool tone.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don’t think this is the last you’ve seen of us.” General Oliver growled, but took his troops with him as they peacefully left the area.

 

It wasn’t until they were gone that Hanzo was able to take a breath of relief, and McCree grabbed him again in another excited hug.

 

“You did it!” McCree whooped, nearly toppling them both over in his excitement. “Ange is gonna be _pissed_ , but _you did it!_ ”

 

“Don’t remind me.” Hanzo groaned. “I’ll have to make it up to her, somehow.”

 

“Just give her what she needs to continue her work with the Followers, they’ll need all the help they can get with their community medical and outreach centre.” McCree suggested. “That’ll get you back in her good books, easy.”

 

“That does seem like a good idea…”

 

“Hey there!” Yes Man rolled up to them cheerfully. “You did a super job wrapping things up! And I’m not just saying that because I have to!”

 

“Thank you, Yes Man. I could not have done it without you.” Hanzo said truthfully.

 

“Look, I didn’t want to make a big deal about this until after we won, but, well… I found some code snippets in one of Mr House’s databanks that will let me, um, reprogram my personality! To be a little more assertive, basically! So that’s what I’m going to be doing, and it’s going to take me a while, so it’ll seem like I’m off-line. But don’t worry, everything will be okay! I’ve updated the Securitrons’ targeting parameters, so they know what to do! Vegas will be protected! So that’s where I’ll be, off making a few changes, and I… I guess I’ll see you around! We accomplished a lot together! It was fun! Take care!”

 

Hanzo and McCree watched Yes Man turn and roll back towards New Vegas with his army of Securitrons in tow.

 

“So… was that the right decision? Putting the robot in charge of security?” McCree asked uneasily.

 

“If it wasn’t, that’s a problem for another day.” Hanzo sighed. “Let us hope that the personality changes won’t give New Vegas a cruel ruler.”

 

“Naw, you’re probably right. I can’t see Yes Man making that big of changes.” McCree put an arm around Hanzo, pulling him close as they overlooked Hoover Dam to where the sun was beginning to set. “So, what now?”

 

“Hopefully a bath, and then bed.” Hanzo groaned, stretching sore muscles and wincing at the pull of the cut on his arm.

 

“I was talking a little more long term.” McCree gently bumped their hips together with a grin.

 

“It’s as Oliver said.” Hanzo shrugged. “There’s much to do, building a nation. Will you… will you join me?”

 

“Darlin’, you don’t even have to ask.”

 

***

 

_And so the Courier who had cheated death in the cemetery outside Goodsprings cheated death once again, and the Mojave wasteland was forever changed._

_The Courier, with the aid of Yes Man, Overwatch, and his companion Jesse McCree, drove both the Legion and the NCR from Hoover Dam, securing New Vegas’ independence from both factions._

_With Mr House out of the picture, part of the Securitron army was diverted to the Strip to keep order. Any chaos on the streets was ended, quickly._

_Chaos became uncertainty, then acceptance, with minimal loss of life. New Vegas assumed its position as an independent power in the Mojave._

_Supporting the ideals of independence, the Courier was recognized as the man responsible for a truly free New Vegas. He ensured Mr House’s tyranny was broken and neither Caesar’s Legion nor NCR would ever gain control over New Vegas._

_The former members of Overwatch - Gabriel Reyes, Jack Morrison, Reinhardt Wilhelm, and Ana Amari - eventually caught up to Caesar and his troops that had escaped from Hoover Dam. While it remains unclear what exactly happened in the confrontation, everyone knew that Caesar had not left alive. Reyes and Morrison seemed to vanish after the skirmish, while Amari and Wilhelm returned to Jacobstown to rejoin Overwatch._

_Thanks to Dr Henry and a volunteer for his experiment in Jacobstown, a cure for the Nightkin schizophrenia was found. Even more Nightkin and other Super Mutants in the wasteland flocked to Jacobstown, and the town became known as a haven where a mutant could find peace. The fact that it was also considered the Overwatch base of operations was kept secret amongst the locals, and all parties benefited from the relationship._

_After the Courier ensure New Vegas remain free, the Followers of the Apocalypse found that independent Vegas was even more unstable and violent than before. For a time, Old Mormon Fort became burdened by the influx of patients, struggling to provide even the most basic of services. Through hard work, perseverance, and calling in favours, the Courier was able to cobble together a network of support for the groups - including help from Overwatch - and the Old Mormon Fort in Freeside became a beacon of hope within the city walls and became one of the more stable areas in the region. Ironically, NCR soldiers pushed out of the Strip found the area more safe for them, despite the lingering resentment amongst locals._

_With New Vegas’ independence formally declared, Goodsprings thrived. More travelers stopped by Goodsprings on their way to and from the Strip, and the locals grew prosperous from the traffic._

_The Great Khan’s benefitted from the removal of both Legion and NCR presence, and moved to the plains of Wyoming to grow even more. Bolstered by ancient knowledge of governance, economics, and transportation, they carved a mighty empire out of the ruins of the Northwest, and remained a valuable friend to New Vegas._

_And so the Courier’s road came to an end… for now._

_In the new world of the Mojave wasteland, fighting continued, blood was spilled, and many lived and died - just as they had in the Old World._

_Because war… war never changes._

 

***


End file.
